


Weglaufen

by ubercharge



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: ...of course thats a fucking tag oh my god, Anal Sex, Angst, Blood Kink, Blood Play, Blood and Gore, Blow Jobs, Bottom Medic, Canon-Typical Violence, Dicks, Drama, Fluff, M/M, Magic, Sexual Content, Top Sniper, aka the unholy trifecta, med usually tops but hes sweet here so, non-class names, plr_nightfall, temporary limb loss, why is that two words?? idk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-31
Updated: 2015-12-11
Packaged: 2018-03-20 12:04:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 146,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3649677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ubercharge/pseuds/ubercharge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Medic inhaled and exhaled softly. "You can only keep a free bird caged for so long, Herr Sniper," he said, staring beseechingly at the marksman before looking away.</i>
</p><p>Sniper has lived most of his life roaming the Outback. The limits of his job as a mercenary with RED are starting to get to him, but he finds solace in his team's Medic. Stoic, violent, beautiful, terrifying Medic. With a gore-spattered uniform and perpetually icy glare, with magic running through his fingers, and murder running through his thoughts. <i>Oh,</i> Medic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fog

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bisexual-legislature](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=bisexual-legislature).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Falling in love with this pairing was a slow burn. It didn’t appeal to me at all before; I had Sniperspy, what more could I ask for? Then I got into Medispy - a bit of a surprise to myself. But Medisniper wasn’t even something I’d considered. Then, more suddenly than I could’ve predicted, it hit me like a train. Before I knew it, I was going through the ship tag on Tumblr and pounding my desk with a clenched fist.
> 
> It’s not a common pairing, and I was aware of this before I even poked my head in. Because of that, there isn’t a ton of content. So I decided to actually buckle down and work on this fic.
> 
> I’d also like to dedicate this to one of my favourite artists and mutuals on the blue blogging website: Emmy, perhaps better known as [bisexual-legislature](http://bisexual-legislature.tumblr.com). She inspires me to no end, and you absolutely need to check out both her blog and her art! She was certainly the driving force for me getting into Bush Medicine, and you can’t not love a person who gets other people into ships and makes them stay up late crying over the ship. Go follow her. Seriously. Right now! I’ll wait. //

There was a thick layer of fog settling over the expanse of evergreen trees covering Nightfall's mountains. The RED and BLU carts of explosives were locked up in their respective buildings on the map, and the mercenaries on both teams were fast asleep in each base. At least, most of them were.

The RED Sniper was awake, even though it was five o'clock and he wouldn't mind being asleep and catching up on rest. Instead of being in bed, he was wandering through the forest like a lost spirit, drinking in the coolness of the early morning.

He had his camping backpack stuffed with supplies for emergencies. His rifle was slung over his shoulder, and his SMG and kukri were at his belt. For protection, of course. Just in case something - or someone - was also out and about, ready to pounce him.

It was unlikely.

He was silent, breathing in harmony with the hushed tones of the forest, walking with a velvet tread. There was a certain serenity that was so very rarely offered at any other time of day. In the early morning, life, even fate itself, seemed to hang in place, stalled for a precious pocket of time.

The night vision glasses were uncomfortable but necessary if he wanted to be able to see where he was going. Swaths of dark green needles seemed to reach out to him from every which way, and the Sniper loved it. He felt alone. He felt at peace with the world and with nature.

But dragging himself out of bed so early the way he did would put a dent in his sleeping schedule; he was aware he’d have to retreat back to base sooner or later to continue sleeping. 

He stopped in his tracks, and lifted the glasses to perch them on top of his head. It was dark. Of course it was. The Sniper closed his eyes and took a deep breath, inhaling the dewy scent of greenery and the loomy soil beneath.

 _It’s time to go back,_ he thought to himself, willing his body to carry out the task.

Slowly, he put the glasses back on and made his way back to base. It was a fifteen minute walk through the tangle of trees and shadows. Sniper oriented himself easily using certain large, oddly-shaped rocks as landmarks, and sometimes even the stars.

By the time he got back, he was covered in a fine layer of moisture that dampened his clothing. The stark white lighting and gentle whirr of pivoting security cameras greeted him as he re-entered RED base.

It was relatively dark inside, not that it mattered to Sniper, what with the glasses still on him. Even then, he’d be able to navigate the place in complete darkness. He’d spent a decent amount of time walking around the place in the middle of the night, tracing his fingers along the familiar, worn walls. They were occasionally illuminated by the dim night lights preventing many an awkward middle-of-the-night stumble.

Sniper didn't mind the dark so much. After having just come out of the forest, he felt a lot better overall. He never went far, never needed to, knowing that his movements could be tracked no matter where he was. But his little visits to the woods? Nobody would give a shit anyway; they could easily understand his need for space and privacy, especially privacy surrounded by nature.

It was why he liked the van so much. Not only did he have his own space because of it, but the outdoors was just a few steps away when he slept in there. Although his little room in base wasn't bad, he didn't sleep in it nearly as often as the van.

It didn't matter to him that the others teased him about it, which they did quite often. Especially his closest friend, Spy, and the loud-mouthed Scout. They didn't feel like he did about being cooped up in base. It was secure, of course, and there was reassurance in safety and power in numbers, but damn it, Sniper just liked the fresh mountain air too much. It was far from the Australian outback, and yet he’d grown attached to it. His impromptu treks into the forest kept him stable, or at least relatively content.

And even then, he told himself again and again that base wasn't so bad. It was where his teammates stayed. He liked them, he really did. Being pegged as a loner suited him just fine, though he still socialized with them enough so that they knew he didn't hate them. Sniper smiled to himself, thinking about how Spy took as much time _away_ from the team as he could. He could be a social butterfly. He could also be more of a loner than Sniper.

A sorrowful melody was piercing his ears.

Sniper had gotten so caught up in his thoughts that he almost didn't catch the footsteps. Almost. He was, after all, an experienced tracker and hunter, and was accustomed to using his hearing even more subconsciously than consciously. In any case, it would've been difficult to miss the screech of a violin bow stopping abruptly against the strings.

“Herr Sniper?” a quiet voice called. “Have you been up the whole night?”

Sniper turned to see the resident doctor peering at him, scrutinizing him, taking note of every little detail in him to be able to conclude exactly what was wrong with him. He had the bow in an ungloved hand.

“I woke up just a bit ago, doc,” Sniper replied, giving a half-shrug with the shoulder that his rifle strap wasn't resting on.

“Yet you are in this hallway. Are you feeling ill? Did you get lost on the way to the restroom?” Medic asked, walking up to him. His figure was silhouetted by the white light coming from somewhere inside the infirmary. He looked a little angelic. And a lot eerie.

“No! No, I just...” Sniper began, trailing off. He realized he had literally no reason to be in the medical wing. At the end of the hallway was the infirmary, and on one wall, there was also a room that the Medic had personally monopolized for his needed supplies. There was nothing there for Sniper himself to do.

“I was just walking around,” he admitted. It was the truth, plain and simple.

“Why?” Medic asked, brow furrowing. He looked concerned. Perhaps rightly so.

“I, uh, I just came back from a walk,” Sniper said, becoming more and more aware by the second that it was an ungodly hour of the morning.

“Come into my office,” Medic said, waving him in with the bow, past the lines of waiting chairs outside his office.

Sniper sighed to himself. Wanting to get his explanation about his walk over with, he followed Medic in and shut the door behind himself. He managed to make a minimal amount of noise, barring the awful squeaking of the hinges.

“You oughta oil your door, doc,” Sniper stated.

“What?” Medic asked, startled for a moment. “Oh, the door. It’s fine, I’ll worry about that in the morning." He paused. "You know, you are supposed to be asleep.”

“Then let me go back to my van and sleep again. I've only been up for half an hour.”

“Ah, yes, the van. You’d be surprised how often Spy rambles to me about its filthiness,” Medic said drily.

“My van isn't filthy!” was the automatic response.

Medic gave the Sniper an attempt at a smile that looked positively creepy in the minimal lighting from the desk lamp a few metres away. He strode over to his desk, and considered asking Sniper to take a seat before he was interrupted in his thoughts.

“Why aren't _you_ asleep?” Sniper asked, huffing.

The Medic pursed his lips as he set the bow down in a velvet case. “Insomnia,” he replied smoothly. “I've tried taking pills, but they don’t work for me. I create my own solutions. Unfortunately, they aren't always effective and I'm still working on it.”

Sniper nodded in understanding; insomnia was a problem he could relate to.

“Do you have the same problem?”

“Sometimes,” Sniper said. “Not today, though. I woke myself up ‘cause I had to take a piss. By the time I was finished, I had to get some fresh air. That’s why I went out for the walk - see? I can take care of myself, and I go for walks all the time, too.”

“At five in the morning?” Medic asked. He was clearly skeptical as he picked up a pen and clipboard from his table.

“Yeah, doc, at five in the morning. I know it’s weird timing, but it helps me sleep better after.”

“Mm,” Medic said, nodding. He was taking quick notes. “Why did you come _here?”_

Sniper blinked. “I guess I just... I don’t know. Sometimes I walk around the base when everyone’s asleep. I didn't know you were awake. I didn't even think you’d be able to hear me.”

The Medic smirked. “I have very good hearing.”

Sniper huffed softly. “I can tell, ‘cause I'm pretty damn quiet.”

“Ja, just remember to come back if you need medical assistance,” Medic said. He slid the pen into the clip of the clipboard, then set it down on the counter beside him.

“I will,” Sniper promised. It was a blatant lie, made obvious by how uncomfortable he looked.

Medic stared at him. He knew very well that the Sniper did not visit his office voluntarily; he had to be dragged in by Demoman or even Heavy. His regular checkups were punctuated by him squirming on the examination table and complaining about copious amounts of blood loss. Sniper wasn't big on checkups.

The doctor made him uneasy, and that was just the truth.

 _An apple a day..._ The old saying rang through Sniper’s mind, but he brushed it off.

“I apologize for taking your time, Herr Sniper. I’d suggest you go back to bed.”

“It’s fine, it’s your job to be... worried,” Sniper said, exhaling loudly. “You should also sleep. Er, that is, if you can.”

Medic laughed. It was quiet and soft in the early morning tones of his voice, but it was genuine, and Sniper found it oddly endearing despite everything. 

“I will be fine,” the doctor promised. “Go get some rest. You have to be up in a few hours.”

Sniper nodded and made his way out. He wondered how the Medic was even able to function if he got up at the time that Sniper had - likely even earlier than that. Sleep deprivation was no small matter, as much as he himself generally tried to wave it off with a cup of coffee or five.

Good thing a morning stroll always helped him get right back to sleep. A side effect of them was that he often had vivid dreams when he did return to bed. Tonight, he felt, would be no exception.

Sniper unlocked his van. There was a sense of familiarity and recognition, of course, but everything also felt just a little bit surreal. Early mornings tended to make everything feel surreal. Sniper had a feeling that, when it was time to actually start the day, he would likely think that the conversation with Medic was a dream.

Come morning - _actual_ morning - he’d forgotten all about it. He even forgot what his dream was about, but he woke up a little mournful. There had been an underlying melody in the dream, something slow and melancholy.

Sniper didn't dwell on it, and went through the routine he was so used to. Brushing his teeth, throwing some clothes on, brewing some coffee and pouring it into his thermos, reloading his weapons...

“Bloody fuckin’ hell,” he cursed as a small box of ammunition dropped and spilled twenty bullets onto the floor of his camper van.

At least half of them had rolled into the darkest crevices in their immediate vicinity, just to spite him. Sniper managed to pick up the rest and stuff them into the box. His back protested as he stood back up and stretched as much as he could in the limited amount of movement space he had.

He needed his damn coffee, but it wasn't ready yet.

“The kitchen,” he murmured to himself. A few of his teammates also adored their morning cup; they’d have plenty ready, without a doubt.

Sniper threw on his vest and hat before leaving the van and locking the door behind him. He kind of regretted not having brought an umbrella or something, because it was starting to drizzle. Oh well. At least he had the hat.

“Hey, Snipes!” Scout greeted him as he entered from the side door.

“G’mornin',” Sniper replied, even though his focus was on his caffeine fix.

“Spy’s lookin’ for ya,” Scout added. “He was pretty cool about it, but I think it was urgent, ‘cause he specifically told me to tell you to go look for him. How’s that even work? He could be anywhere.”

Sniper made a face. “Spy?” he repeated. If Spy was looking for him and willing to ask _Scout_ to pass the message along, it had to be something good. Which probably meant that something exceptionally bad had happened.

Scout just nodded. “It was definitely Spy, if that’s what you’re askin’, ‘cause he smells like his cigarettes, y’know?”

“I know,” Sniper sighed. After all the time he’d spent with his friend, a frequent smoker, and all the times he’d fought the enemy Spy, he could very easily tell the smell of smoke apart from everything else the battlefield assaulted his sinuses with.

“I better go find him. See you later,” Sniper said, giving the runner a parting wave. Coffee would have to wait.

Sniper hadn't mentioned it to Scout, but he did, in fact, know where he’d be able to find Spy. There were a few choice ‘hiding’ spots in the base that the Frenchman favoured, and Sniper knew just where to look first.

The RED base had three floors and a basement. Presumably, the BLU was the same.

The basement was for storage, laundry, an emergency generator, the ‘monitoring’ room hooked up to all the cameras, and Administration knew what else, in rooms locked tight.

The first floor was dedicated to the major rooms - namely the kitchen and dining area, the infirmary, Engineer’s workshop, some storage rooms and closets, the weapons housing, the washrooms and showers, and the rec room.

The second floor was filled with the mercs’ bedrooms and some guest rooms - untouched.

The third floor was rarely visited; there wasn’t much to see. A few empty rooms on it were used for storage of junk that was _potentially_ useful, like several large heaps of scrap metal and old, dusty weapons. The floor also featured a peculiarly large room with enough windows so that, during daytime, it was fully illuminated. It contained a set of stairs leading to the roof.

Spy liked it a lot, and so that was where Sniper was headed.

By the time he’d climbed up to the second, then the third floor, he’d run through just about every possible scenario in his mind, wondering why Spy had felt the need to summon him.

The door was unlocked. Sniper let himself in before shutting it.

“A bit rude not to knock first, isn't it?”

Sniper grunted. “You made me come up all this way, did’ja really think I was gonna bother knockin’?”

Spy uncloaked in front of the window and exhaled cigarette smoke. He seemed to be watching whatever was outside, but Sniper wondered if he was actually looking at anything besides trees.

“So why am I here, spook?” Sniper asked, walking up to the window.

“I don’t know, you are the one who chose to come up here,” Spy said with an air of smugness. 

Sniper elbowed him and the Frenchman dissolved into a fit of giggling. He was rarely so relaxed around anyone else.

“Scout sent me,” Sniper said, watching the light rainfall out the window.

“Hm.” Spy looked thoughtful. “Did he mention that I slammed him into the wall because I thought he was the BLU Spy? He was acting odd, but I quickly realized that it was actually him.”

Sniper laughed - a loud, almost harsh bark of a noise. “You prob’ly scared the shit outta him.”

The Spy gave a slight shrug. “Better safe than sorry,” he pointed out.

Sniper definitely understood that. Too many times he’d allowed the BLU Spy the upper hand in battle when he’d dropped his guard.

“Why’d you ask for me? Did something happen?”

Spy put out his cigarette on the windowsill and gently brushed the powdery ashes to the floor. “It was nothing urgent. If the Scout said it was, then he cannot listen very well; I specifically said it wasn’t urgent and that he didn’t have to go out of his way to find you.”

“He made it seem like it was urgent,” Sniper chuckled.

“I was just a bit concerned, is all,” Spy said with a light tone of voice.

“Concerned?” Sniper asked, gawking at his friend. “‘Bout what? Not like I've been doing _that_ bad lately, have I?”

“No, no,” Spy mended quickly. “Your performance has been fine, but perhaps it... it is being hindered by something? I am _not_ trying to imply anything; I’m just asking.”

“Why?” Sniper replied, thoroughly perplexed.

The corner of Spy’s mouth twitched. “Our resident doctor has mentioned to me that he’s worried about your health. Why, he did not tell me. But because we were speaking this morning, and I’m very aware of his terrible insomnia, I'm assuming he caught you wandering.”

Sniper winced slightly. “I almost forgot about that,” he admitted. “Yeah, the doc did catch me out, and in the medical wing at five in th’ mornin’, no less. He had a little talk with me ‘bout sleep, but I told ‘im that I go out into the forest ‘nd when I'm back, I wander the base a lil’ bit, ‘s all.”

“Calm down, bushman, your accent...” Spy laughed, patting the man on the shoulder.

Sniper sighed. “Haven’t had my coffee yet, spook,” he said.

“Don’t you brew it in your van?” the Spy asked.

“Ah, shit! I almost forgot ‘bout it! The only reason I came into base was to grab some coffee 'cause mine wasn't ready yet, but then Scout showed up and look where I am now.”

“Let’s go get your coffee then, mon ami,” Spy said, turning and nodding towards the door.

Sniper followed him out. He almost tripped on the second to third floor’s staircase. Had he done so, it was likely that he would’ve taken Spy down with him.

Lucky for the two of them that he had a remarkable sense of balance and it did not fail him.

Hilariously enough, on the second staircase they had to descend, it failed him. Sniper tripped and fell.

“Merde!” Spy hissed as Sniper crashed into him. They bowled over and landed in an ungraceful heap at the foot of the stairs. Sniper’s aviators flew off his face and clattered against the wall.

Hurried footsteps sounded and Demoman poked his head around the corner.

“Bloody hell!” the Scotsman exclaimed. He looked shocked, then worried, then he was suppressing his laughter.

“We’re fine, thanks for askin’,” Sniper muttered, untangling himself from Spy, whom he felt bad for crushing against the floor.

“Aye, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Demoman said, offering a hand and pulling Spy up. He picked up the aviators and gave them to Sniper before helping him up, too.

As soon as Sniper was standing on both feet, he made a sharp noise and crumpled over again.

“Robin!” Spy cried.

“It’s okay! I’m fine, I’m fine,” Sniper said. “I think I broke somethin’. How are _you_ able to stand?”

“Your elbow went into my spine and I feel about five new bruises, but I didn’t _break_ anything,” Spy replied, aghast. He got on one knee to try to help his friend up.

“Demo, take his left side,” Spy commanded.

Demoman swooped down to help support their teammate.

“Where is the Medic?” Spy asked, looking around. The stairwell was empty, and he couldn’t hear anyone in their immediate proximity.

“In his office, said he needed to check on somethin',” Demoman replied.

Spy nodded, holding Sniper’s arm over his shoulder with an iron grip.

“Should we just go to him?” he asked.

Demoman shook his head. “He’ll come if we call him,” he said. Without warning, he yelled, “Medic!”

Sniper flinched, not expecting the sudden auditory punch. “‘M gonna be fine,” he sighed.

“After th' doc’s done with ya, sure,” Demoman said, amused that the Sniper thought he’d be fine on his own when he couldn’t even stand.

“Let’s go, let’s go. He could not have heard you from _here_ ,” Spy said, taking a step forward. 

Neither Sniper not Demoman bothered informing the Spy that the Medic had disconcertingly good hearing, so the trio made their way down the medical hall. They did their very best not to crash into any of the chairs set outside.

“He should really just stack those up,” Sniper grumbled.

“I keep tellin’ ‘im to, but ‘e never listens,” Demoman sighed, shaking his head.

Before the group even made it to the infirmary’s doors at the end of the hall, they were flung wide open. Medic was immaculate in his uniform. He was gripping his standard Medi Gun and looked positively regal as his coat fluttered and settled down against him.

“What happened?” he asked, closing the distance between himself and the three in just a few steps.

“We fell,” Sniper said. “From the stairs.”

Medic raised an eyebrow. “‘We’?” he asked. “You are the one being carried, Herr Sniper.”

“ _I_ didn’t land on my ankle,” Spy replied neatly.

Sniper gritted his teeth, bit his tongue, and chose to abstain from speaking.

Medic gave him a quick once-over. “Bring him in,” he said. “We don’t have much time. It’s already seven thirty. We have to get going in half an hour - at the latest - if we wish to be punctual."

He turned and headed back into the infirmary.

Spy and Demoman exchanged a look, but said nothing as they helped Sniper in.

“Can you set him on the table?” Medic asked. He grabbed a pillow from one of the medbay’s cots and put it down, presumably so that Sniper would be comfortable.

“You underestimate the injuries I sustained in the fall, docteur,” Spy said. It had been intended as a joke, but Medic didn’t quite catch it. He simply walked over, pushed Spy aside, and helped Demoman lift Sniper onto the table.

“I just wanted some coffee,” the Australian sighed.

“I’ll get it for you,” Spy said, motioning to leave.

“Oh, no, no, no.” Medic snapped. He pulled Spy back. “I need to check on _you,_ too.”

“I can get it,” Demoman said, patting Sniper on the arm.

Sniper attempted to make a grateful expression while lying on the table as his entire body was aching. “Thanks, mate,” he said, retrieving the keys from his pocket and tossing them over.

Demoman caught them and nodded. “No problem, laddie. I’ll see you all later,” he said before leaving.

“Danke,” Medic called after him as he fussed with his suspended Medi Gun rig.

Medic fiddled with the settings on the large Medi Gun, set a dial to ‘low’, and aimed it at Sniper before turning it on.

He exhaled in relief.

“Herr Spy,” Medic said.

“You can just hook me up to your Medi Gun, docteur. I’ve just been a bit bruised, nothing serious.”

Medic paused, digested his words for a moment, then shot him a glare.

“Lift your right arm,” he commanded.

Spy did as he was told.

Medic pulled up the sleeve and Spy winced visibly.

“Menteur,” the doctor muttered.

“I didn’t lie,” Spy snapped. “Bruises hurt but it is more likely than not that I will encounter respawn at least once today, and respawn can fix bruises, last I checked.”

“Just take a seat,” Medic said, making his way to the refrigerator. "I'll make this brief for you."

Spy sat down on the chair beside the examination table but he did not look happy about it.

“I hope the team will be fine without their support group, ‘cause you’re makin’ it sound like we’ll be here awhile,” Sniper said from the table.

“Beruhigen,” Medic said. Sniper didn’t speak German, but it didn’t take being multilingual to figure out what he was trying to say. Then again, the doctor often told Scout that, too, whenever the runner was being particularly loud. Quiet. Be quiet.

“He just fell down a flight of stairs, be sympathetic,” Spy chided.

Medic pulled a small sealed bag of ice from the freezer and handed it to the Spy.

“Really?” Spy asked, raising his eyebrows as he peered at the doctor.

“Respawn doesn’t fix everything,” Medic replied tersely.

Spy might’ve pressed the issue had the doctor not looked and sounded so serious. He simply nodded and took the ice.

“Will Sniper be in battle today, or should I inform the team of his absence?”

Medic turned and took a look at Sniper lying down, twiddling his fingers over his stomach.

“We’ll both be late, but we should be back by lunch,” he decided.

Spy nodded again. “I will see you both then,” he said, getting up. “Feel better, Sniper.”

Sniper made a noise of protest. “‘M not sick, you bloody spook!” he huffed, getting on one elbow to face the man.

The Spy didn’t turn back, but he waved before he left.

“Lie _down,_ ” Medic sighed.

Sniper laid back down.

“Can’t you just use the Medi Gun to fix it?”

“Nein. Especially not on you. It’s good for injuries sustained on targets who expend a lot of energy doing physical work, and it helps with patching up horrible injuries post-battle, but now is not the time.”

“I do physical work,” Sniper retorted, defensive.

Medic smiled and patted his shoulder in a way that could not _possibly_ be anything but patronizing. It made the injured Sniper bristle. Had he the strength, he would've forcibly removed the doctor's hand.

“I may have something that can help you, except I’d have to check for the medigun models that are working and don’t have side effects that... that will make things worse.”

Sniper decided that the old-fashioned method would be fast enough. He did not voice his thoughts in time, because the Medic adopted an absurdly excited expression. His eyes glimmered and his thoughts were a flurry. It worried Sniper immensely, as if he wasn't worried enough already.

“Wait right here,” he said, grinning and rushing away before his patient could protest.

Medic opened an inconspicuous door. Sniper turned his head. From his awkward vantage point, he could see a table littered with what had to be prototype mediguns and spare parts. They certainly weren’t the mediguns that Medic used in combat on a daily basis; he had those out on the counter hooked up to their own little stations with refill bottles for whatever it was that went in them.

There were a lot of bottles inside the table that the Medic was looking through. Some of them were labelled. Most of them, it seemed, were not. Sniper judged this by how the Medic was picking them up at random, holding them up to the window, and just staring at the colourful fluids inside really hard before setting them back down again with some frustrated German mutters.

“Da steht!” he exclaimed, gripping a half-full, clear bottle. The liquid inside was aggressively pink.

Medic turned to the other side of the odd room, and was suddenly out of sight of the Sniper as the half-open door obscured his view.

“Arbeiten, arbeiten. This has to work,” the Medic growled.

Sniper was curious until he saw the flash of white light and fear crawled up his spine.

Medic emerged from the room flushed and looking satisfied with himself.

“Herr Sniper, I think this will speed things up a bit,” he said.

But Sniper wasn’t listening, he was wondering what the hell the Medic had been doing in that room that would produce a flash of light and make his face all red.

Medic didn’t notice Sniper’s stare fixed on his visage, and instead worked on his Medi Gun rig. He turned the thing off first, and unplugged one of the many wires sticking out of it, a mustard yellow one. Then he attached one of the tubes coming out the back to the suspicious bottle of pink, now cloudy-looking liquid.

When he deemed everything sufficiently attached, he re-adjusted the settings on the side again.

“Are you doing alright?” Medic asked distractedly.

“Uh, yeah,” Sniper said, still watching his teammate closely. He couldn’t deny that he was suspicious as to whatever the doctor was trying to do, but he was also curious. The curiousity did not outweigh the fear and suspicion.

Medic turned around, startling him and catching him staring. It was evident that he didn’t realize that Sniper had been staring at all. Or maybe he just didn’t want to be a prick and call him out for being rude for staring. 

Without a word, Medic took his red rubber gloves off, tucking them under the edge of Sniper’s head pillow. Then he pressed two fingers to Sniper’s neck.

He yelped in surprise, recoiling so hard he almost rolled off of the table.

Medic cursed softly and used his other hand to pin Sniper down by his hip.

“Don’t fall off,” he said.

“Don- don’t do what you just did without tellin’ me first!” Sniper sputtered, indignant as he smacked away the hand on his hip even though it hurt to do so.

“Just checking your pulse,” Medic replied, tone mild. He reached over and pressed Sniper's arm back down to the table.

“Why?” Sniper sighed, running his hand through his hair and tipping his hat back.

Medic took the hat and set it down behind Sniper’s head, finding it funny how it hadn’t fallen off earlier.

“It’s not important anymore,” Medic said dismissively.

Now Sniper was _really_ worried, along with being more than just a bit confused.

Medic ran a bare hand down the length of the Medi Gun, sighing softly. Such a reliable piece of machinery. His own adjustments to it, along with the Engineer’s, allowed it to serve him well.

He did notice Sniper’s discomfort before hitting any levers or switches, though. To make him feel better about what was about to happen, the doctor smiled.

Sniper was just about ready to bolt from how unsettled he was. Medic, as a rule of thumb, did not smile unless he was running somebody through with a saw. At least he didn’t have any saws nearby. Probably not. Hopefully not. Sniper gave a shaky exhalation.

“I have a great idea,” Sniper said, voice weak. “I can just go and, and... ice it, yeah? Sound good?”

“Oh, Sniper,” the Medic sighed, shaking his head. “Don’t be such a baby.”

The doctor winked, aimed the Medi Gun at his chest, and turned it on.

As soon as the rays were focused on him, swirling reddish light, Sniper found that he was unable to move. He might’ve screamed for help, for somebody to bloody save him because the doctor had just lost his mind, if it wasn’t for the _next_ wave dispensed by the Medi Gun.

Vapours, cool and thick like a mist of water from a gardening hose. They seeped through the Sniper’s clothing and seemed to permeate his skin right down to the bone, chilling him completely and wafting a piney scent into his nostrils.

“Scheiße, I should’ve given him a robe,” Medic muttered as he jotted down notes on his clipboard that Sniper hadn’t even noticed him taking out from anywhere.

Sniper wanted to tell him that it was fine, everything felt fine, even if his clothes were all wet and sticking to his body. He found that he didn’t have the words, was too tired to move his mouth as a wave of calmness rushed through him. His eyelids fluttered and shut.

“That’s not good,” Medic said to himself. He sounded more weary than worried, though, as he set the notepad down and pulled his gloves back on. He had his work cut out for him for the rest of the morning.

 

The scent of pine was everywhere. It didn’t just permeate the air, it practically was the air.

Sniper was wandering. Enveloped in mist, light rainfall, and cold, he was far from comfortable. But he’d been through worse, in the midst of nature. A bit of water would not kill him now.

 _“Robin, Robin...”_ a faint voice called, making him jump.

It sounded very far away, and very sad. He wanted to walk towards it, wondering why somebody in the middle of the forest would be calling his name in such a heart-wrenching manner. Instead he found his feet carrying him away. Not in the opposite direction, just not towards it.

He could taste dew on his tongue even with his mouth closed.

The wind rushed over and around pine needles, an insistent barrage of air that gradually grew colder and colder, until the mist was all gone. The greyness was washed away from his muffled vision, and in sudden clarity, the forest showed itself to him.

Every emerald needle on each little branch of each tree was in sharp, almost jarring focus. The world looked sharp. Sniper winced as he walked, slowly, past the trees. They seemed to be jutting out just to scrape at him, trailing blood and drops of cold rainwater.

 _“Robin...”_ the same voice called, sounding no closer nor further than before.

It made Sniper want to run or remain stagnant, hiding under the security of a tree. He continued walking through the forest instead. No recognizable landmarks crossed his path. The groups of trees seemed neverending as they swayed in the wind.

A sudden, crushing sense of sadness struck him, but he didn’t stop walking, slowly moving forward, bit by bit.

The wind accelerated again. It was so unbelievably cold and pushy that Sniper was surprised as to how he was remaining upright, still walking. It kept pushing him, against him, and he kept walking at it.

The raindrops were eventually replaced by snowflakes hurtling towards his bare skin and scraping harsh and deep against it, making the pine needles’ marks sting more.

He was damp and felt like he should be miserable, hopeless, and yet he didn’t stop walking. His skin was raw, sore, red, protesting his gradual advances, and he ignored it.

The trees whipping him and the howling, furious tempest were all he had. He heard nothing but the almost-screeching noise of the wind, felt nothing but the dull pain on his skin and dull ache in his chest.

His rhythm was thrown off by a distant yell, more distant than the gentle voice had been.

 _“Robin!”_ it cried, desperate.

Sniper stopped in his tracks, perplexed, yet not thinking. He’d stopped moving not out of need nor necessity; he did it out of an inexplicable, deep-rooted reflex of some sort.

 _“Robin!”_ the voice called again. All of a sudden, it did not sound far away. It was loud and clear, and mixed with a haunting violin refrain.

Sniper cocked his head.

A wave of heat buffeted him, mixed with the acrid scent of gunpowder.

The delicate construction of his dream was shattered as he had an unpleasant awakening.

 

“Ach mein gott!” Medic gasped.

Sniper sprang to life, sitting upright and clutching his stomach immediately.

Medic’s shoulders lowered and he gave an exhalation of relief.

“Bloody hell!” Sniper exclaimed, his heart racing. “What just happened?!”

Medic composed himself faster than his patient did, quick to tuck his ungloved hands behind his back. Not fast enough. Sniper caught the motion as soon as it occurred; automatically tracing the movement. His hands were glowing...

“I believe I fixed you,” Medic stated, nodding.

“I wasn’t broken, doc,” Sniper pointed out.

“You were a little broken,” Medic quipped. “Would you like me to check if you are fine now?”

“No, I can do that m’self, ‘m not a bloody invalid...” Sniper muttered under his breath, half-rolling off of the examination table and landing on one foot before settling weight upon the other.

Medic watched him for a moment before snatching the notepad and scribbling down some more notes.

Experimentally, Sniper tested his ability to stand. He walked around in a little circle. All of the pain was gone, even the soreness in the rest of his body from sustaining the bumps down the stairs. Sure, his front was covered in a thin layer of cold water, and he couldn’t shake the intense fragrance of pine, but at least he was able to move again.

“You did it,” Sniper said, impressed.

Medic had pulled his gloves back on. “Ja, I did,” he agreed. “I hope you are feeling fit enough to fight soon, because there’s only an hour left before we must head to the field. Demo actually brought your thermos of coffee here, but I’d actually recommend not drinking it after the, ah, _treatment_.”

“No coffee?” Sniper asked in disappointment.

“Ja, because now is not the time,” Medic instructed sternly, going over the notes he’d made.

“Isn’t there anythin’ else you can give me?”

Medic stopped, thinking for a second.

“Actually, there is,” he decided, turning and making eye contact.

Sniper was about to ask what the doctor had in mind when he strode over to his fridge. Sniper exhaled loudly, and tapped his fingers against the examination table. He quickly removed them when he realized it was wet. Little droplets of ice cold water covered the surface where Sniper had not lain. That was odd.

Sniper might’ve thought about it some more, or even about Medic’s hands putting on their own little light show, but it would probably be a better and safer idea to drop the topic. He'd been patched up alright, and that was all that mattered pre-battle.

“Here, take this,” Medic said, handing Sniper a warm metal water bottle. The logo of the brand was almost completely rubbed off, the thing was a little dented, and a series of letters, numbers, and symbols was written on the side with black marker. Otherwise it looked fine.

“Is this a bottle of water?” Sniper asked, jiggling it to hear splashing inside.

“It is. It’s mine, it’s clean, and I just refilled it for you. I expect you to drink all of it.”

“Look, doc, I’m used to drinkin’ coffee with a lot of sugar. I dunno if this’ll help me.”

“Oh, ja, I know _that_. Here, hand it over. Danke,” Medic said, taking the bottle and unscrewing the top off. He dropped in two small white tablets and replaced the cap.

 _Great,_ Sniper thought to himself. _Now I’m gonna be tired_ and _high_.

“This should not conflict with the treatment you had, and if it does, well...” Medic trailed off, chuckled for a bit. “...Chances are, respawn will catch you before I do.”

He smiled brightly - still a scary sight to Sniper - and tossed the bottle back to him, who almost dropped it as he stared back at Medic in horror.

Medic patted his arm reassuringly. “You will be fine. I’m just joking,” he said.

Sniper flinched at how unreasonably hot the Medic’s hand was, even through the glove. And Sniper hadn't taken the joke lightly. He decided not to drink any of whatever it was Medic had just given him, lest he keel over in the middle of battle. That would be embarrassing.

“Very funny,” Sniper mumbled.

“Let’s go get lunch, Herr Sniper,” Medic said, ushering him out of the infirmary.

“What? ‘M not hungry,” Sniper protested. It was true; he wasn’t hungry. Despite not having had breakfast, his stomach simply was not growling.

“Raus, raus!” Medic said, pushing him out and shutting the doors to the medbay behind himself.

Sniper complied, even though he didn’t really _want_ to eat with the doctor, who seemed like the type to tell him to watch his dietary habits.

He preferred eating with Spy, a person whose company guaranteed at least some peace and quiet. Or Demoman, when the Scot wasn’t otherwise occupied, because he was friendly.

Medic was starting to give Sniper the creeps. Perhaps not just starting to - that would be wildly inaccurate. He’d _always_ been creepy and unsettling, really. But the good doctor had saved his sorry arse, sacrificing his morning to do so. Eating lunch with him couldn’t possibly be any worse than being under the infirmary’s modified Medi Gun, which tended to blur Sniper’s memories and thoughts.

“What do you want to eat?” Medic asked, glancing back.

“Oh, uh...” Sniper hesitated. “I don’t mind,” he shrugged.

“Then by all means, take a seat. I’ll see what I can do with so little time.”

“I can cook, too.”

“Sit, bitte.”

Sniper sat, setting down the water bottle and taking one of the chairs facing the middle of the dining room table. Medic headed for the kitchen, and Sniper watched him go, watched his white coattails flutter elegantly with his swift walking pace.

It wasn’t long before the doctor was over the stove, just visible to the Sniper through the kitchen’s doorway. He was humming softly to himself, an unrecognizable but happy-sounding tune, as he tied an apron around his waist and started working.

Sniper looked away. He had so many questions, and he doubted he’d voice a single one of them. What treatment had the Medic put him through and why did it make everything wet and pine-scented? Why were his hands glowing and _hot?_ What did he put in the water bottle? Since when did he _cook_ for anyone?

Sniper growled out loud in frustration. He was pretty sure the latter question, at least, had a simple answer: he was Medic’s patient and thus Medic would provide, even after having worked on the ‘treatment’ for the whole morning.

Although he often doubted the doctor’s medical skills, at least he was relatively sure the German was capable of cooking a decent meal that did not contain suspiciously raw entrails nor suspiciously red ‘sauce’, even if the rumours about him claimed otherwise.

The dining room was warm, despite how gloomy it was outside with the rainfall.

“Hey, doc,” Sniper called, turning to watch him cook again.

Medic turned, asked, “Ja?”

Sniper was shocked at the sudden feeling of domesticity. For a moment, he was able to pretend it was just him and the doctor cooking him brunch. Just the two of them in each other’s company. It made his mouth go dry.

“N-nevermind,” he said. Even though the Medic had returned his attention to the pan on the stovetop, Sniper didn’t stop staring at him.

It didn’t even occur to him to stop. Not when he was lost in his reverie, thinking about the mundanity of everyday life - as a person who _wasn’t_ a mercenary - and how he actually missed it. Life in the war always brought something new to the table, sure, but there was a certain appeal to his life before it, even if one of his parents detested his endeavours and the other was overbearing. He watched the Medic cook and hum, and found himself wanting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \\\ ~~You may recognize my name choice for the Sniper; it’s one I’ve used before, for my RED Sniper of Goldrush. But this fic in particular, I am using the classes as their own characters, so I don’t have two teams per map. I just like the name.~~ I've changed his name from 'Lawrence' to 'Robin'.
> 
> Also, I use 'medigun' to group _all_ of Medic's guns together - the standard Medi Gun, Quick-Fix, Kritzkrieg, Vaccinator, and all his prototype models. I use 'Medi Gun' to refer to the default Über gun and the big Medi Gun used exclusively in the infirmary.
> 
> editing [06/04/2016]; a lotta paragraphs are short on pc but reasonable on mobile (where i used to read a lot) .. maybe it's my short attention span making me break it up so much too haha


	2. Blood

“Snipes! You’re back! Demo said your leg was broken and the doc needed to operate on ya and ya almost died from the blood loss and-”

“He _what?_ ” Sniper asked, nearly dropping Medic’s water bottle. He was pretty sure that the Demoman had been there and saw that Sniper most certainly did not need surgery. No matter, the man liked to exaggerate and entertain; Sniper wouldn't be surprised if he’d done just that.

Scout was standing in front of him. He was soaked from the rain, his brown hair plastered to his forehead. For whatever reason, he wasn’t even wearing his hat; it was dangling from the top of his baseball bat. His headset was around his neck, and it had to be waterproof considering the weather.

Scout snickered, punched the marksman’s arm. His hand was wet, even with the bandages wrapped around them.

“I’m jus’ teasin’ ya. Where is the doc, anyway? You brought him to this part of the map, right? ‘Cause we’re back at first payload. We won earlier!”

“Good to hear. He needed to do... somethin’ in respawn. I asked if he needed help, but he told me to get on the battlefield ‘cause we both missed the mornin’ and all.”

“Bet he jus’ wanted you out an’ about so we could all see you’re not dead yet,” Scout huffed, rolling his eyes.

That was not a helpful thought, and Sniper wasn’t sure what to say in response.

“I better find Spy,” he said instead.

Scout practically hopped up at that. “He’s been waitin’ for ya, I think. In the shack thing with the little bottle of pills.”

“Thanks, mate,” Sniper said with a nod. He decided it’d be best not to sit around making idle conversation, and to just go look for his friend.

Scout flicked his bat, caught his cap on his head, and told him, “See you back here in a few!”

Sniper hefted his rifle over his shoulder. The worn leather strap he used would need to be replaced soon, but right before battle wasn’t the best time. He ascended the steps to the little wooden building where Scout had said Spy was waiting. He didn’t bother making his footsteps quiet.

“He told me you were waitin’,” Sniper said. 

Spy was blowing smoke out into the rain, standing right behind the ledge holding the pill bottle so as not to get wet. “Scout?” he asked.

“Yeah. You blackmailin’ him into bein’ your messenger or somethin’?”

Spy laughed, and smoke danced out of his mouth. He crushed his cigarette stub against the wall. “You may be surprised to hear that I am not blackmailing him in any way whatsoever. It’s good to see you out here, are you feeling better?”

Sniper nodded, walking up to Spy and watching the raindrops fall alongside him. “A lot better, actually. The doc patched me up and even made me lunch.”

“Really?” Spy asked, eyebrows raising. “He rarely cooks. I think he’s eaten more of Demoman’s meals than what he makes. He’s so busy with his own work.”

Sniper shrugged. “Prob’ly only did it ‘cause he didn’t want _me_ to.”

“You’re not a bad cook,” Spy said, smiling.

“I know that! I can handle cooking. I’m pretty sure the doc knows that, too, but he told me to take a seat at the table and din’t exactly leave room for argument.”

Spy shot his friend a sideways glance. He was fairly close to the Medic, too, though he decided not to voice his thoughts on the matter. His external quiet did nothing to hide the grin on his face. Sniper didn’t notice, so Spy changed the topic when he took a quick look at his watch.

“We should get going,” he said, tapping the modified Inviswatch a few times to return it to the cloaking interface for battle.

Sniper nodded and tailed the Frenchman as they made their way back to RED respawn.

“I’m surprised you didn’t bring an umbrella. You hate gettin’ your suit wet.”

Spy sighed, waved his hand a little to create an air of pure drama. “It’s been raining all morning. The perpetual dampness is unavoidable.”

Sniper understood what he meant. Even though he’d only been outside for a little bit - the actual walk to the battlefield excepted, as that had been a wet ordeal - he could already feel the steadiness of the rain. He had a feeling it wouldn’t let up for at least a few more hours, and by then, the day’s fighting would be over.

 

“Ye feelin’ any better? I hope the doc didn’t make ye worse,” Demoman greeted Sniper as he returned to the respawn room.

He nodded. “Fixed me up just fine,” the marksman said, unlocking his locker.

“Long as ye can fight,” Demo shrugged. “We’ve only got half the day left.”

“I’ll be able to do my job,” Sniper promised.

Demoman clapped him on the shoulder before heading to his own locker to tend to his loadout.

Sniper took out his Darwin’s Danger Shield, running his bare hand over the bumpy surface of alligator hide before he put it on. And for a melee weapon, the kukri would do just fine. He was attaching it to his belt when he was spoken to yet again.

“Herr Sniper.”

Sniper looked over his shoulder, nodded to the doctor. Medic glanced down and saw that he still had the water bottle.

“I’m surprised you haven’t put it away,” he commented.

“This?” Sniper asked, lifting the bottle. As he did that, the kukri fell. He cursed loudly and was about to reach down to pick it up, but the Medic was faster than him.

“Uh, thanks,” Sniper said, taking his blade back and fumbling to attach it to his belt.

“You’re welcome. And ja, I meant the bottle. You seemed rather hesitant about it before.”

“‘S only ‘cause I didn’t know what you put in it.”

Medic tilted his head, looking quizzical. “Something to give you energy, that’s all. Highly experimental, of course, but I have faith in what I make.”

“You make drugs in the infirmary?”

“I- no! They’re not drugs. At least, I don’t believe they’d be drugs... That’s not the point! Just try it, alright? Whether or not you experience any adverse effects, I’d appreciate it if you came back to me with the results.”

“This is why I was worried.”

Medic put his hands on the Sniper’s shoulder. “Do not be worried,” he said firmly.

_“Mission begins in sixty seconds.”_

Medic dropped his grip, nodded as firmly as he’d spoken, and turned to pick up his Medi Gun.

Sniper exhaled, unaware that he’d even been holding his breath in the first place. He wondered what was up with Medic’s hands, so filled with _heat_. He was tempted to drag him back and press their palms together just to feel it some more.

The medical smells that clinged to the Medic, scents of blood, rubbing alcohol, and disinfectant, made the pine smell go away and Sniper lamented not having noticed that sooner. He still refused to call the doctor back to him, lest he grow even more worried about Sniper's condition and handling of the treatment.

Sniper still didn’t understand what that treatment was. Of course, it had actually worked, so that was probably a good thing. He was sure that his body was no longer in pain, as evidenced by his ability to walk. But he’d been healed by the Medi Gun - both the combat one and the one in the infirmary - enough times to know that whatever had been done to him wasn’t quite the norm.

The weird mist, for starters. Sniper didn’t even know that the Medi Gun was able to spray out mist, nor did he understand why it would need to. Maybe that was the sedative, and it just needed to come out as mist to work properly. He didn't know shit about medical stuff in clinics and hospitals, if Medic's office could be considered anything close to either of those things.

And that damn pine smell. It was coming back. Sniper found himself rubbing his nose in a vain attempt to make it go away, and he’d sneezed a few times, but to no avail. He’d be fine with it if it wasn’t so strong. He figured that the rain would make it less prominent, or even better, wash it away entirely.

_“Mission begins in ten seconds.”_

Sniper dismissed his thoughts. What mattered was that he was feeling fine, even without Medic’s warm hands on him that he still kind of wanted to put back on his shoulders, and he’d yet to keel over. He clipped the thermos to his belt.

Death could wait for the battle.

_“Three, two, one.”_

Spawn had already emptied around him, but Sniper didn’t want to walk out quite yet. It rained often on Nightfall. He was used to it. The team had been on the map for many months now, and if there was anything that the mercs had learned over that time period, it was that the weather was positively miserable.

Sniper was getting used to wringing out his clothes out after battle. There was the daily laundry, of course, but making the way back to base with a wet uniform was far from his idea of a good time.

“Ready to go?”

Sniper started as Spy uncloaked beside him. He didn’t have a cigarette in his mouth, nor between his fingers. It’d be pointless to light one then have to go out in the rain, anyway.

“Yeah,” Sniper said, gripping the handle of his kukri as he followed his friend out.

He watched Spy cloak again, and heard him walk into the heart of the fray. His footsteps faded into the growing cacophony of rainfall, shouts, and gunfire already blaring.

Sniper could already see that his team had pushed their cart further than BLU. He’d have to move up a bit before finding a suitable spot to shoot from.

As he was deciding whether or not to stop behind the big rock, Scout darted past him, yelling enough swears to set fire to the muddy earth. Blood was streaming from various bullet holes in his arm.

Sniper shook his head at how Scout was so ready to take risks. A guttural roar caught his attention. He ducked behind the rock, whipped out his rifle, and lined up a shot.

The BLU Demoman was slicing at the Pyro with his Persian Persuader sword. Evidently, he’d deemed it a good idea to charge towards them. Maybe it was because of the rain that he had no qualms about being set on fire. This would be easy. Sniper readied, aimed, and fired. Pyro was a bit surprised to see the body drop at their feet before spotting Sniper at the rock. They mumbled out what Sniper assumed was a ‘thank you’, and made their jaunty way forward.

Sniper was about to follow them when he heard a noise that sent a shiver down his spine. He grabbed his kukri, but it was too late; an arm had made its way around his neck.

“Did you really think it would be that easy?” a familiar voice growled into his ear.

“Spy,” Sniper spat.

The BLU Spy smiled. He was still clutching his Dead Ringer in his left hand, the same arm he was using to keep the Sniper in a chokehold.

There were a few faint clicks as Spy unfolded his balisong.

“I noticed your absence in the morning, mon ami.”

Sniper snarled, clawing at the Spy’s arm. But the enemy was in no mood to let him go.

“None of your business,” Sniper managed to say.

BLU Spy paused, tapped the knife against his chin thoughtfully.

“Good point,” he finally said. “I will make this quick for you. À plus tard, chasseur.”

Spy worked the blade between himself and the Sniper, then sank it into his back. When he let go of the marksman with his left arm, the body crumpled to the ground. Respawn would catch up shortly, so the BLU went and made himself scarce before Sniper could return with kukri swinging.

Sniper, of course, respawned and stomped out with kukri swinging. He and the BLU Spy understood each other. They’d grown from the point where they’d make every death as painful as possible. They were rivals on the battlefield, but kept their business courteous. Sniper wasn’t quite sure whether or not he’d call that exchange ‘courteous’. He supposed a quick death was better than a long one, and was able to appreciate that much from the Spy. He also wanted to get back at him, except he could be anywhere on the map now. It’d be better to just catch up to the others and find a new sniping area.

The rainfall hadn’t worsened. In fact, it was showing signs of letting up. Sniper could tell because his clothes weren’t soaked a few steps out the door. He gripped his weapon tightly, ready for another encounter with the enemy Spy. No need.

“Hello,” Sniper greeted, tipping his hat to his team’s arsonist.

Pyro shot him a thumbs up. There were few cuts in their uniform, but they were dragging their Flamethrower along like it was dead weight. The nozzle was pointed to the dirt. Maybe it was time for an ammo refill.

“Wait, Pyro,” Sniper said.

Pyro turned around, cocking their head questioningly not unlike how Medic had done so earlier. The connection made Sniper feel weird and he brushed it away. 

“Did you get the Spy? He stabbed me earlier, figured you might’ve seen ‘im.”

Pyro nodded with enthusiasm, made a few muffled noises of affirmation.

“Thanks, mate,” Sniper said, tipping his hat again as he headed off. At least he could put away his kukri now.

Noises of the distant battle grew louder the closer he got to it. The BLU cart was around mid, but nobody was pushing it. The RED cart, though...

“Push the cart!”

That could only be the Soldier. Three consecutive blasts told Sniper that he was using his Beggar’s Bazooka. As Sniper neared the fray, he could see the three rockets explode, hitting nobody with the wildly inaccurate launcher. Sometimes it did, sometimes it didn't. The RED wasn't big on perfect aim; he relied on splash damage. Admittedly, that could still send a person like Sniper flying.

Sniper hugged the wall and aimed forward. His team had gotten pretty far in such a short time; the cart was almost at its destination. He’d be able to provide some last-minute support.

Through the scope, he could see his team’s Soldier perched on top of the payload, ready to fire rockets at any approaching BLUs. Heavy was actually pushing the cart. Engineer had a Mini Sentry out, but the man himself was nowhere to be seen. Both team’s Scouts were engaged in a melee fight, whacking at each other with a bat and a frying pan. Spy was also missing from the action, which was apt.

And the BLU team... was nigh absent. Demoman was camping one of their spawn doors with stickybombs, Sniper could see that much. The BLU Pyro was charging out from the other door, ready to fight the mercs on the cart. Sniper took care of them in one effortless shot, then mumbled to himself in approval.

As he reloaded, he kept his eyes on the entrance that the Pyro had come from. The BLU Soldier was being tailed by the BLU Medic. A single rocket from him brought the RED Soldier into the air. But he wasn’t even fazed; he aimed his Beggar’s Bazooka, loaded it, and had all three rockets out before he even landed on the wet grassy dirt.

Amazingly enough, one of them actually hit the BLU Soldier and sent him flying backwards. Another hit the Medic, who yelled as he was blown sideways. Unlike the Soldier, however, the Medic did not manage to land on his feet. And unlike the Soldier, he did not land on the ground.

Sniper barked out a violent string of curses as the enemy doctor took him down, knocking his gun out of his hands. Sniper craned his neck to see it lying too far for him to reach, especially with the Medic on top of him. So he began removing his kukri from his belt, his movements rushed and frantic.

The BLU Medic shook his head as if to wave away a mild concussion. He realized that he’d landed on the enemy Sniper, and, quick as a cobra lunging forward to bite, pulled out his bonesaw. His grip was firm but his aim was shaky. Instead of cutting Sniper's throat with it, he dragged the thing down his arm. Sniper yelled, feeling the serrated edge cut through his shirt and flesh.

His kukri was freed from his belt. The doctor growled and clamped a hand around Sniper’s neck, lifting his head harshly and dropping his slouch hat. He would not miss again. In his fury, he didn’t notice Sniper was ready to strike with his kukri. Watching the marksman’s neck instead of his face meant the Medic also didn’t notice Sniper’s expression change from anger to hesitation.

Sniper found himself unable to sink his blade into the BLU’s neck, as the Medic had been so ready to do to _him_. Instead, he stared, noting the crooked glasses, the disheveled hair, the expression of rage and perverted ecstasy. He could really feel the bruises on his neck developing. The BLU Medic relaxed just slightly, licking his lips at the sight of blood flowing from the wound on Sniper’s arm. He wanted to spill more of it.

He didn’t get to.

_“AUFHÖREN!”_

The saw met Sniper’s throat, but just barely cut the top layer of skin before the BLU’s head was bashed in. By the RED Medic. Gripping his Medi Gun. His eyes were on fire - quite literally on artificial fire, because of his killstreak - as he lowered the machine he’d used to knock the enemy Medic aside.

“Doc,” Sniper managed, swallowing hard as he reclaimed his hat, then his rifle.

“Bitte,” Medic said, switching his angry hold on the Medi Gun to a less homicidal-looking one before offering a gloved hand to the Sniper and helping him up.

“Thanks,” Sniper said, trying to keep his breathing in check.

Medic smiled, even laughed a bit. Sniper couldn’t meet his eyes. They were flickering too much with their red fire. Instead, he fixed his gaze on the doctor’s Übersaw, shining a matching hue of red. It might've been light shining on the blood, but no - it was the shiny Professional Killstreak Übersaw.

“You should help the others, they’re almost done,” Sniper said, scratching the back of his head. An anxious gesture.

“No, I think they have the situation handled,” Medic replied, despite the fact that he wasn’t facing the cart and was facing Sniper instead.

Nonetheless, his words had been correct. The payload reached the last point and detonated behind them. The force of the explosion took out everyone that had been around the cart, which was almost every RED and BLU.

The RED Scout, spared from the blast, gave a whoop and brought down his crit-charged frying pan on his counterpart’s head, effectively killing him.

The proud cry of the Announcer rang in the RED’s ears, and the BLU’s weapons disappeared from their hands.

With that, Medic lifted his saw in excitement. The same sadistic glint that had been in the BLU Medic’s eyes now shone in the RED’s. It was ten times scarier now because of the fire effect.

“Shall we?” he asked, sounding far too eager for Sniper to be comfortable.

“Nah, you go on ahead,” he replied.

The doctor nodded dutifully and charged into the BLU spawn, ready to gut every adversary who dared remain in sight.

Sniper took deep breaths. He looked down. Beside his feet was the BLU Medic, face down in the dirt.

“You alright?” Sniper asked, frowning.

The BLU didn’t reply. Maybe he was dead. A pitiful moan coming from the doctor, however, proved that thought otherwise.

Sniper decided to just put him out of his misery. He raised his kukri and brought it down on the back of the Medic’s neck. A sudden urge prodded at him. The way that the BLU had stared so intently at Sniper’s bleeding arm that was still bleeding because, for whatever reason, RED Medic hadn’t healed it.

Not quite sure why he wanted to, Sniper brought the blade to his mouth and gave it an experimental lick. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting. Maybe something to explain the _appeal_ of it? But it tasted like blood, with its familiar metallic tang. Nothing to make him gag or want more - just blood.

He might not have done it had he known that the RED Medic was standing right outside of BLU’s spawn door, watching him intently the same way his opposite had. Before Sniper even stood up, the Medic had flung himself back around the corner, around the wall, out of sight so Sniper wouldn’t see him and notice him. It would be difficult to explain his boner.

“Stay still already,” Medic growled.

Back in the RED infirmary, he was fussing with the injured Scout on the examination table. The runner had sustained quite a few blows earlier, both from his opposite and from the enemy Engineer’s wrench.

“Why’s it smell like the forest in here?” Scout asked, sniffing the air, not even flinching when Medic pinned down one of his knees.

But at his question, Medic froze for a second before resuming his ministrations. He swiped an alcohol-soaked cloth over Scout’s clavicles. The runner yelped.

“None of your business,” was Medic’s reply. “Now just sit still unless you want me to bring in Demo to tie you to the table... _again.”_

Scout gulped. “Okay, I get it,” he said, taking the threat seriously.

Medic was pleased to receive a few blessed minutes of silence as he finished cleaning Scout’s wounds. It wasn't that he found Scout to be insufferable. He was just tired. Medic suppressed a yawn, adjusted the Medi Gun, and turned it on. Immediately, Scout let out a relieved exhalation.

“Grab some ice from the fridge for your bruises, if you want,” Medic said, even though he knew Scout rarely bothered. “Next!” he yelled in the general direction of the door.

As expected, Scout declined the offer. “I’ll be fine,” he replied. “See this arm right here? Yeah, I broke it pretty hard last month, but I didn’t need any ice for it.”

Medic raised an eyebrow, watching the Scout try to flex without triggering his bruises. “I remember very clearly,” he said. “I was there. I had to send you to respawn myself.”

The door creaked open. Scout looked up, but Medic wasn’t done with him just yet.

“You were screaming - _begging, in fact_ \- for me to just fix it. I had a headache, so I opted for the easiest route.”

Scout gave him a groan. “Snipes didn’t need to know that,” he whined.

Medic snapped to attention. He still wasn’t over what happened in the battle after lunch. Although he’d taken great care to avoid Sniper as much as possible afterwards - not a difficult task when Sniper didn’t spend much time up front like he did.

"You're dismissed," he told Scout stiffly.

He hopped off the table, nodded hello to Sniper, and left.

"Close the door!" Medic barked.

There was a bit of shuffling outside before the door was closed. Medic's shoulders settled, and he waved Sniper in.

"How is your arm?"

"I've been through respawn a couple of times since it was cut, so I s'pose it's fine now."

Medic was guilty that, for once, he hadn't noticed. Normally, he kept tabs on each one of his teammates in battle, but he’d been too busy getting away from Sniper to check on him. "Have you sustained any other injuries, then?"

Sniper nodded, looked down, then back up. Medic was writing something down on a clean sheet of paper.

"Show me," he said distractedly.

Sniper hesitated. He soon decided to just do what he'd been asked, lest he be put through another odd Medi Gun 'treatment'.

Medic might've kept his eyes glued to the clipboard longer had he not noticed Sniper stripping. His breathing stalled as Sniper put his shirt on the table.

Sniper was lean. His chest was certainly covered in more hair than Scout's. Medic bit his lip, chancing a swift downward glance.

"Doc?" Sniper asked. He sounded so concerned that Medic had to force himself to stop staring.

"Ja?" he asked weakly, following the question up with an almost brusque clearing of the throat.

"This is what happened earlier."

Medic set down his clipboard to look at whatever Sniper was talking about. Apparently the striptease wasn't quite over yet.

Sniper removed his belt and dropped it on top of his pile of shirt.

Medic made an undignified squeak in his throat and covered it with a cough. Absolutely mortifying.

Sniper turned around. There was a long gash running from his lower back to his left hip. It was still bleeding.

"Herr Sniper, you should've come to me sooner if you were this badly hurt!" Medic exclaimed, his concern overpowering his more carnal instincts.

Now, he was all business, rushing over to the sink to grab a clean washcloth to run it under the tap.

"You were busy," Sniper said.

Medic tsked, and helped him onto the table before wiping the gash with the cloth. The smell of blood was dizzying and impairing Medic's ability to work like the professional he was.

Some things he knew he had in common with his counterpart? They were both disgustingly sadistic, craved blood, and got insatiably horny around it.

Medic had a shot for himself to fix the latter issue, seeing as it didn't help him in battle to run around with an erection. With the help of Demo, they'd brewed a little something to muffle his needs. But Medic had run out of a few ingredients not too long ago and had been trusting himself to exercise self-control for everyone's sake. It had been working fine until earlier in battle.

"I'm not too busy to help you if you're dying."

Sniper shrugged. "I can take a pretty hard hit."

"In deinen Arsch?" Medic asked under his breath before he could stop himself.

He was just glad he'd said it in German instead of English because he wasn't sure what he'd do if the Sniper told him that yes, he could take a hit in the ass. Probably pin the man to the table, despite the bleeding wound on his back.

Sniper didn't reply, but he stiffened visibly. His face was red, and he was glad his aviators concealed his eyes. Not that Medic was looking at his face; the doctor was otherwise occupied with his injury. Though Sniper didn't speak German, he just had a pretty good guess as to what the Medic said.

So as not to give him a chance to respond, Medic hurried back over to the sink. He rinsed the bloody cloth, shivering with delight as he watched the red-tinted water swirl and go down the drain. He needed a moment.

"Sniper," he said. The slight voice crack as Medic said his class name made Sniper growl deep in his throat, low and feral.

"Yeah?" he asked as steadily as possible.

"T-turn on the Medi Gun. Hit the big lever on the left there and it will heal you. I'll be right back. I need to... get something."

Without any further explanation, the Medic rushed into his room of prototype guns and bottles and shut the door.

Sniper had never been allowed to touch it before, nor had he asked, seeing as it wasn't his to touch. He hit the lever, surprised at how much resistance it put up. The machine whirred softly as it dispensed its healing rays.

The Sniper jumped in his seat as he just barely caught the incriminating noise coming from the room that Medic had retreated to.

_"Ah-!"_

A gasp of pain or pleasure.

Sniper quickly decided he wouldn't say nor do anything about it, lest Medic find out he'd heard and cut him up or worse. The possibilities were both gruesome and endless.

He was more worried than anything when the flashing of lights began. Smoke seeped out of the room around the door. Sniper got up, even though his wound was still leaking beads of blood.

He approached the door slowly, warily. The smoke curled and thickened as he neared.

There was a loud crash.

"Doc, are you alright?" Sniper called.

"Ja, I'm fine," Medic replied, sounding anything but.

"I'm coming in, okay?" Sniper asked, reaching for the door handle and willing his nerves to stop jumping.

"I would advise against it!"

Sniper squinted at the door. Was that supposed to scare him off? It was a weak argument that only served to increase his suspicions. But one thing occurred to him, part of why he felt so odd right now - the Medic hadn’t made any eye contact with him during his examination. Not for a second. As if deliberately avoiding him. There was no room to avoid anymore.

Sniper went ahead and opened the door slowly, then he entered, despite the clouds of smoke in the way.

He wasn't sure how to react to the sight. He wasn't sure that what was in front of him was something he was actually seeing.

Medic was hunched over on his knees, on top of the table. Not the one that held all his machinery and prototypes, but a smaller one. A square-shaped wooden one sitting across from it, normally concealed by the door.

He had one gloved hand in the air and the other held a knife that was etching markings into the table. There were already glowing red circles and symbols on it, resembling arcane runes, but the doctor was drawing more. His hand in the air was flickering red and white, and smoke was rising from his palm.

Energy seemed to be rushing up from the table, making it vibrate. Sniper noticed light bouncing off of objects floating in midair, scraps of metal and glass bottles and mediguns of various types. Daring to defy gravity for whatever reason.

The Medic noticed his presence before he could gather his bearings.

When he spoke, his voice was low and reminded Sniper of his feral growl from earlier.

"Is that blood? Are you still bleeding? Did you just bring blood in here, _du affe?"_

"I-I didn't mean to? 'M sorry, I'll go," Sniper stammered, backing up.

Medic lifted the knife, a gnarled black blade that could hardly be called a knife, and stabbed the table with it. The etchings stopped glowing. He took a deep breath before climbing off the table. With his exhale, the smoke cleared, and light poured in from little windows over the machinery table. The objects that had been floating fell from the air.

"I'm going, I'm going!" Sniper told him, turning and scrambling towards the door.

"Nein, that will not be necessary," Medic replied. He flicked his wrist and the door shut.

"How did you-?" Sniper whispered, turning around.

Medic gave him a smile, smug and creepy.

"Magic," he said, as if it was just that simple to understand. "We've fought a wizard and his talking book before, don't look so surprised. Aodhán and I practice it plenty."

"Aodhán..." was all Sniper could say. The Demoman's name, rarely used.

Medic nodded, stepping closer to the gunman. "We also brew potions of sorts. Unfortunately, one of the mixes that I require to function properly has run out. I had to make do with the table... but you interrupted me."

"I didn't mean to! I was just worried. And what do you mean by 'function properly'?"

"I mean _‘keep my inhibitions in check’,_ lest I have to hold myself back manually, like right now."

"From what?" Sniper asked in disbelief and confusion. He was about to get beat up, wasn’t he? He admitted to himself that he deserved whatever was coming to him for ignoring Medic's warning not to enter the room.

The doctor's eyes flashed at the question. "Would you like to _find out?"_ he asked, leaning towards the Sniper whose back was already to the door.

"Whatever it takes for you not to be pissed at me," Sniper said, relaxing as much as he could, which wasn't much.

Faster than he expected, the Medic discarded his gloves and rushed forward. Sniper braced himself for a blow, but it didn't come. He wasn't expecting what he did get, though.

Medic was so close to the Sniper that the doctor could hear his laboured breathing and practically smell his fear. Medic grabbed his arm and turned him around. The smell of his blood, though - that was far more intoxicating.

Sniper gasped as the Medic lifted a leg to press his thigh to the marksman's ass. He tried to find purchase on the smooth wall. When he felt teeth against his neck, he had to hold back a moan.

The medical scent of the doctor was overpowering the familiar pine, and Sniper was losing himself within it.

"Please..." he whispered, grabbing the doorknob for support and not really sure what he was saying ‘please’ to. He was relieved when the teeth were removed from his skin, along with the leg in between his own. He also wasn't sure if his sudden arousal overpowered his confusion.

Medic dipped down, planting gentle kisses down Sniper's bare spine before getting on his knees, facing Sniper's bare back.

When Sniper felt the tongue against his half-healed wound he almost lost it. His pants were growing uncomfortable as the Medic cleaned up the blood with an unrivaled fervor.

Sniper could not keep down his moans this time. The combination of stinging pain and Medic's actions were turning him on.

If it didn't feel so good, if he was in his right frame of mind, he might've stopped the doctor in a vain attempt to maintain their professional relationship. But all he could do was clutch the wall and squirm.

Medic gave a satisfied sigh as he stood back up. Sniper was panting, amazed at how the tongue bath had affected him.

Medic grabbed his arm and turned him back around. He practically slammed Sniper back against the door, and with a warm hand on Sniper's spine, pressed their bodies together.

"Make yourself mine," Medic whispered into his ear before biting his neck again. Hard.

"Doc, oh fuck," Sniper moaned. His back was tingling from the heat in Medic's bare hands. He felt invigorated and like he was about to pass out at the same time.

This time, the press of the Medic's hands didn't bring raw fire. The heat was as alluring to Sniper as the blood was to Medic, and he find himself arching towards the doctor to feel more.

With his shirt off, he was cold in the infirmary. But god was Medic warm.

"Doesn't it worry ya that you're on fire?"

Medic laughed, which tickled against Sniper's skin.

"Nein, schatz. It's just a side effect of practicing magic."

"Can you heal with it?"

Medic pulled back.

"Actually, I can, I have, I _did._ The new Medi Gun solution I plugged in for you this morning? Purely a sedative. It was only made to be able to keep one under while I was working on them."

"Wait, you healed me with _magic?"_ Sniper wasn't sure what to feel about being healed with magic. This had to be a dream. That would be fine - a _dream_ he could accept.

Medic nodded, running his fingers over Sniper's wound.

"If I do it now, you will understand why I had to put you under for the procedure."

"Try me."

Medic leaned in and kissed Sniper. There was still blood on his tongue and Sniper was startled to taste it.

The doctor’s palm was pressed against the injury. A rush of hotness spread from his hand to Sniper's body, making him gasp in surprise against Medic's mouth.

He did not let Sniper go, kissing him again as he literally worked his magic.

Energy was building up in Sniper. He might've been more alarmed if his mind was less foggy.

"Medic," he said, desperate for release from the unbearably and deliciously hot sensations.

Medic finally pulled back, breathless as he replied, "Ja, I know." He didn't mention that he could feel Sniper's hard-on against his own but he started grinding on it anyway.

Sniper cried out. He climaxed harder than he'd ever done so before. Sparks flew, hopping from Medic's palm.

"Oh bloody hell," Sniper murmured as he lost the ability to stand.

Medic held onto him tightly, bending over to pick up his legs, too. Medic carried him bridal-style to the wooden table. It was still fizzling with the remains of magic, but it would have to do. The doctor wasn't worried; he already felt that he'd successfully healed the wound.

His work was done. He opened the door and settled the near-unconscious Sniper on the examination table. Medic removed his hat. A quick wave of his hand over the marksman's forehead put him in a deep and immediate sleep.

Later, Sniper woke feeling rested and significantly calmer. He was lying in one of the cots in the medbay, right beside the window. It had been cracked open to let air in. The rain had cleared, and so had the sky. Sniper grabbed his hat beside the pillow and put it on.

He tried not to think about what happened earlier, even though large snatches of it were missing from his memory.

The sunshine was bright and warm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \\\ If only romance was so simple that affection and a few sweet words could ignite the fire in one's heart.
> 
> Certainly, life would be easier for Sniper if it _was_ that easy.


	3. Smoke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Spy's name is a reference to one of my favourite writers, [SimplySix](http://archiveofourown.org/users/SimplySix/pseuds/SimplySix). Of course, Six's Jacques' personality is a _bit_ different from this Spy's. But I digress - I strongly recommend you check out their work.
> 
> 2\. Maybe I should've titled this chapter something like 'Hypocrisy'. //

“Sniper? Are you alright? You haven’t eaten anything. If this is about my cooking, you should just speak up.”

“Nah, I’m... I’m not hungry, ‘s all.”

Spy frowned at the Sniper, who was prodding his dinner with a fork. It was just chicken and salad, nothing fancy in particular. In any case, Spy knew that his friend had few qualms about eating just about anything.

The two often spent their evenings together. They’d have dinner, chatting about the war, about their teammates, about anything but their histories. On clear nights, they’d lie on top of Sniper’s van and watch the stars. On cloudy nights, they’d clean their weapons or play cards.

Now they were in Sniper’s rarely-used bedroom in base. Most of the time Sniper spent in it was to relax with Spy.

In all of the days and weeks and months that they’d spent together, rarely did Spy see his friend so despondent. There weren’t many things to guess about to have caused this, so Spy dragged out his first suspicion right away.

“Did something happen with the Medic?” he asked quietly.

Sniper’s head snapped up. He glared back at Spy, only for his anger to fade as he noticed the genuine concern in his eyes. Sniper almost forgot what colour they were, in that funny way one could almost forget things they knew well. For some reason, that made him feel guilty. Everything was tinted yellow-brown through his aviators.

Spy took in Sniper’s wordless, prickly response to the question. In seconds, he’d analyzed his friend's expression and body language. It was more of a habit than something Spy had intended to do. He flicked his gaze back down to his dinner.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he said.

Sniper sighed loudly on the other side of his bed. He reclined against the wall, turned his head, and stared out the window. The sky was still cloudless.

Spy finished up his food and hopped off the foot of the bed.

“Do you want me to take your plate down, too?”

Sniper shook his head, still concentrating on the outdoors. As if the cool spring night could give him the answers he sought.

The door shut carefully. Sniper tore off a chunk of chicken with his fork and stuffed it in his mouth. If he didn’t eat, Spy would notice. If Spy noticed, he’d probably try to force-feed him. If that failed, he’d tell _Medic_ to force-feed him.

Sniper finished his whole plate of food by the time Spy returned with two cups of tea.

Hands clad in black kid gloves tapped against a knee. The brown and gold cigarette held between two fingers was dropping bits of ash onto the floor.

“You’re fidgeting,” Medic pointed out.

Spy was sitting on a chair in the infirmary. One elbow was on Medic’s paper-laden desk. His other arm was draped over his crossed legs.

“How many times have I asked you not to smoke in here? You will set fire to my work.”

“Je suis désolé,” Spy replied, letting out a cloud of smoke as he did. He pinched the end of the cigarette and threw it into the trash can beside the desk.

Medic’s desk lamp was bright and scathing, pouring light over the papers that he was writing on. A couple of manila folders were open, overflowing with more papers covered in German text.

“I’m worried about him, and it’s making me anxious,” Spy admitted, resting his chin in a hand.

“You worry too much,” Medic replied. “He is capable of taking care of himself.”

Spy groaned. “Of course he is, I know that. But he is my best friend, and it’s impossible for me not to notice when he isn’t feeling well.”

“If he’s not feeling well, you should bring him here.”

Spy straightened, turned and peered at the Medic, taking in his clipped tone.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

Medic dotted the end of his sentence and closed the folder as he looked up. Before he could reply, the door to the infirmary opened with a harsh creak. He still hadn’t gotten around to oiling the hinges.

“Uh, am I interrupting? I can come back later,” Sniper said, shuffling back out the door.

“Nein. It’s already eleven o’clock. Come in, Herr Sniper,” Medic told him, standing up. His smooth steps to the door were practically a glide, with his coat trailing behind him. He turned on the lights, illuminating half of the room.

Sniper shot a glance at Spy, who was studying his gloves, then he glanced at the closed door to the room filled with the prototype mediguns, magical table, and memories of debauchery from just a few hours ago.

Spy felt like he should stick around, but he knew better than to do that. “Il a besoin de ton aide,” he said as he walked up to the Medic. He wanted to make it clear that Medic could help Sniper, that Sniper needed his help for whatever it was that the marksman was dealing with.

The German squinted at him. “Il n’a pas besoin de moi.” Medic, however, didn’t think that the Sniper needed his help at all.

“S’il te plaît,” Spy added before making his way out. As he passed Sniper at the door, he touched his friend on the arm gently.

“Can you close the door?” Medic asked, rubbing his temple.

Sniper closed the door and walked up to the doctor.

“I’m sorry,” he blurted.

Medic blinked a few times, caught off-guard by the words. “Sorry? Why?”

Sniper’s face contorted with a few expressions as he tried to formulate a response. “About everything. About interrupting you and triggering your, um, _condition._ ”

The Medic set a hand down on the examination table beside him. He stared at the glare of light reflecting off of the shiny surface.

A parcel of time, filled with thick silence, passed before he spoke.

“It’s fine.” His voice was soft, and he closed his eyes. “It’s not your fault.”

“I just wanted to say thanks for healing me, even though I bothered you and... everything else happened.”

Medic could tell that this visit was no small feat; Sniper was a man of few words, and for good reason. He wasn’t exactly an expert in terms of socialization. The man isolated himself and preferred it that way. He was closest to, of all people, the other loner on the team.

“It’s alright,” Medic said, assuming that that was what Sniper had come to hear. Even though it wasn’t _his_ fault, he'd come to apologize... Charming. “I’m sorry for ravaging you.”

Sniper gave a snort before he could stop himself. He shot the doctor a crooked smile. The mood lightened, and he replied, “You could’ve done worse.”

Medic looked up from the table. He smiled back, almost shyly - maybe a little coy.

For once Sniper didn’t feel like bolting. His heart raced but not from fear.

Another stretch of silence. Medic refused to let it grow awkward.

“Your eyes are heterochromatic,” he said. It was a sudden observation, and not as if he didn't know; he'd observed all of his teammates before. But it was better than not speaking.

“What? You can tell?” Sniper asked, not even caring about the fact Medic had seen his eyes before. There was something disarming about being observed when Sniper was the one used to observing others, after all.

Medic lifted his hand from the table and wiggled his fingers. Sniper’s aviators grew warm and floated off his face, much to his surprise. The doctor set them on the table, took a step closer.

He brushed his hand across Sniper’s forehead, tilting his hat back. His eyes were wide. One was more gold, the other was more brown.

“Ja, I can tell,” Medic breathed in a hushed tone so as not to snap the tension of the moment.

Sniper always felt much weaker without his glasses. He wore them like armour that also kept sunlight out of his eyes. He was more used to seeing the world with them on than not. Now, his face was exposed.

There was no hiding his expression behind anything, and he wasn’t even sure he’d be able to look away from Medic’s if he tried. His eyes were a cold shade of grey-blue, and yet they were filling Sniper with heat. Not the kind that came from skin-on-skin contact like earlier, but the kind that came from within, swelling inside of him and enveloping him and rising up to his skin, colouring his cheeks.

Sniper opened his mouth slightly only to find himself at a loss for words as he could _just_ barely feel Medic’s breath graze against him. It didn't matter that he had nothing to say; words would be useless when Medic pressed his lips to the Sniper’s, much gentler than before.

The fevered need from the earlier situation had faded away. There was no tongue involved, and the kiss was short and sweet.

“Sniper?” Medic asked.

“Yeah?”

“You should go now. It’s late and I don’t want to... to be the one to reopen your wound.” Medic was reluctant, but still, he allowed his better instincts to prevail.

Sniper looked disappointed, though he, too, understood. Sleep was a difficult beast for both of them to overcome, and he didn't want to sever their sudden bond by being too rash or pushy.

"Good night," Sniper said, his fingers clenching.

Medic gave him a peck on the cheek, brushed a finger along where his lips had touched. It made Sniper shudder as he relished the sudden hotness spreading through him quicker than any natural heat would.

"Guten nacht," Medic whispered.

They parted slowly.

When Sniper exited base to head to his van, he was finally able to breathe at a normal rate again. The stars and moon illuminated his surroundings, shedding silvery light over everything.

"I trust the good doctor did not perform invasive surgery on you, as you appear to be intact."

Sniper started. He looked up in the direction Spy's voice had come from. He was sitting on top of the camper van, smoke curling from his mouth. His back was turned to Sniper because he was looking up at the sky.

"Almost gave me a heart attack there, spook. How'd you even hear me coming?"

Spy took another drag of his cigarette. "You're quiet, but the automatic door is significantly less so."

"Have you been waiting on me this whole time?"

Spy turned, cigarette still between his lips, grabbed the edge of the van, and swung down. He landed neatly on the ground, with the undeniable grace of a cat.

"Oui," he said. Looking his friend in the eye, he added, "You smell like him."

Sniper huffed in indignance. "He smells like the infirmary."

Spy shook his head so slightly that Sniper wouldn't have noticed had the moon not been full and bright.

"The infirmary smells like disinfectant. He smells like blood."

Sniper shivered at that. "I think I still smell like pine."

Spy stared at his friend. "You don't," he said, a bit unsure.

"Really?" Sniper asked. "I've been tryin' to get the pine scent outta my nose for so long, since he fixed me up from the stairs."

"Are you making a joke? The only pine I'm getting is from the forest's trees. By your van, I cannot smell them at all."

Then Spy gasped, the cigarette nearly falling out of his mouth.

"Do you mean _rosemary?_ The fragrance of rosemary herb?" Spy asked carefully.

Sniper gave him a look. "I s'pose it could be either... They smell similar, don't they? 'S more like like pine to me."

Spy pinched the bridge of his nose, mumbling to himself in frustrated French.

“Come up here.”

Sniper climbed the ladder up to the roof of his van and took a seat.

"Did you allow him to perform magic on you?” Spy demanded as soon as he was settled.

"I-" Sniper began, thinking about what had happened in the little room in the infirmary. "Yeah, I did. But I didn't ask too many questions."

"Magic is _dangerous._ The Demoman is more skilled than the Medic, you know." Sniper did not know. "He told me how there can be wild side effects to letting your mind and body channel it. Most of the time, these effects are adverse.

“I’ve told him more than once not to use any... spells that he hasn’t tested yet. I would hope that what he did to you does not come back to bite you in the arse.”

“He still makes me nervous,” Sniper admitted quietly. _In several ways,_ was a thought he didn't add.

Spy put a hand on his shoulder. “He is a dear friend of mine, but your fear is justified. He has violent tendencies and can be too eager to experiment at times. Though I do have faith in him and his knowledge, I worry that he may have taken things a bit _far_ this time.”

Sniper rubbed his eyes, nudging his glasses up off of his face. When he wasn’t focused on anything, his mind kept drifting back to memories of the doctor and his heat and his mouth and how he felt...

“If he asks you again, you know you can tell him no,” Spy said.

“I know,” Sniper replied. He didn’t mention that he wasn’t sure if he’d even be able to do that. To outright say no. He was too damn provocative and scary, like the protagonist of a horrid romance story. “I don’t think it’d make him happy, but I know.”

“It’s more important that he does not destroy either of you as he practices magic. I must remind you that I’ve spent more time with him than you have. I have seen things happen to him that my mind has done its best to erase, mon ami. I do not feel he is cautious enough. If he makes a mistake, you may also have to suffer from the consequences.”

Sniper took a deep breath. He understood, of course he did. He had no reason to trust magic, whatever it was that Medic had done to him. He hadn’t asked for an explanation; he wouldn’t have been able to grasp it, anyway.

“It’s getting late, Robin. I will see you tomorrow.”

“G’night, Jacques.”

“Bon nuit.”

 

It had rained during the night. The ground was wet and muddy in places. The trees were dripping with water from every dark green needle.

Sniper could feel the faint drizzle against his skin as he entered base, this time with thermos full of coffee. It wouldn’t be as bad as actual rain, which didn’t help him do his job. Distractions didn’t help, either; it was unfortunate that he had plenty of them.

He couldn’t stop thinking about the Medic, and he couldn’t stop thinking about the Spy. The conversations he’d had with them yesterday mixed together in his head and it was maddening.

The Scout was sitting in the rec room reading something - a novel, by the looks of it - when Sniper entered the base. He turned and greeted the runner, “G’morning.” It was rare that he saw Scout ready to go so early, but then again, Soldier might’ve taken the initiative to wake everybody up with his bugle.

“Hey, snipes,” Scout said, looking up from his book.

“D’you know where Jacques is?” Sniper asked. He was so distracted by his own thoughts that he didn’t realize he’d used the Spy’s first name.

Scout’s expression went blank. “...Who?”

Sniper almost shoved his fist into his own mouth. He bit down on his knuckles, cursing inwardly. He was glad his teeth did not sink past the leather glove. Though the mercs were a team that had been working together for a while, and camaraderie was fine, they didn't forge much of a personal team relationship. Generally, everyone kept it simple by calling each other by their class names.

“Sorry. Spy, I meant. Don’t tell him I said that, please.”

Scout blinked innocently. “Is that his name?” he asked in a good-natured manner.

Sniper sighed because it was too late to backtrack now. “Yeah, it’s his name. And for some reason, he’s been finding you before me in the morning, which prob’ly means you know where he is.”

Scout grinned wide. “I _do_ know, actually, ‘cause we had breakfast together. He said he’d wait for you in your room. You should go meet him or he’s gonna be standin’ outside your room all alone.” Then the runner shook his head, like the very mental image was making him sad.

“Thanks, mate,” Sniper said, amused because Spy had keys to his room and was capable of picking the lock, anyway.

“You can call me Michael.”

Sniper raised an eyebrow. “I’m calling you Mike.”

Scout shrugged in indifference. “I’ll catch you later!"

The marksman nodded and made his way up the stairs. He didn’t enjoy ascending them; doing so made him nervous. What if he fell again? He’d just end up in the infirmary with Medic. The thought was both unnerving and arousing at the same time.

Sniper pushed the door open. The room wasn’t as dusty as usual. He wasn’t sure what to make of it. It did, however, smell like smoke. So much that the pine was smothered by it.

He looked around before spotting the cigarette stub on the windowsill. Spy hadn’t snuffed it out yet, and the thing was still burning. Sniper hurried over, placed his thermos on the windowsill, picked the stub up, and was about to crush it when he noticed the note that had been sitting beside it.

_Meet me on the roof._

Sniper did not recognize the writing, but he recognized the deep blue ink used. He didn’t exactly _expect_ to recognize the handwriting, because Spy didn’t maintain any one writing style. Sniper wasn’t even sure if he knew what his own friend’s handwriting looked like - not that it mattered; the author of the note could be no one else. Especially when the air smelled like his damn cigarettes.

Sniper grabbed his thermos, and walked up yet another set of stairs. This time, to the roof. He tried the knob and noticed that it was unlocked. Not surprising, as Spy wouldn’t have bothered locking it if he was summoning Sniper to him.

“Good morning, Robin,” Spy said.

“You don’t really need to be cloaked on the roof,” Sniper replied, shutting the door behind him.

“We’re always being watched,” Spy said, uncloaking with a slight shrug. He wasn’t smoking, nor did he have a cigarette in his grasp.

“So why’d you come up here?”

“I wanted to show you something, but I needed space.”

Sniper frowned. “Show me what? We don’t have a lot of time now, mate. We can come back after the battle.”

“Non,” Spy said, shaking his head. “If it rains, I will have to wait until it dries up some more. It’s relatively dry now, and I need that.”

Sniper cocked his head. “Can’t say it’s very dry, Jackie.” Precipitation was hitting them, small as it was. More of a gentle mist than anything, but still. It was not dry.

“It’s dry enough,” Spy said anyway. “I need your help, too. Take this stick.”

Spy passed him a large branch, almost as tall as himself. Most of its smaller branches had been cut off, but at the end, a few tufts of fragrant needles remained.

“Did you break this off a tree?” Sniper demanded, frowning in severe disapproval.

“Oui. The tree will not miss it.”

Sniper exhaled loudly, annoyed. It was too late to lecture Spy on why one should not break branches off of trees unless necessary, so he just put his thermos down and took it.

“Now what?”

“Now, _this,_ ” Spy said, bending down to pick up a small, shallow box that Sniper hadn’t even noticed. It was grey like the roof. Spy slid off the lid and set the container down on top of it. Inside was liquid, deep red.

“Is that-” Sniper started, choking a bit.

“It’s not blood, if that’s what you were going to ask,” Spy said. “It’s ink.”

“Why do you even _have_ that much red ink?”

“It’s not ink for writing. Well, it is, but... Just help me. Dip the branch in there and draw a circle around me. Where I’m standing,” Spy instructed as he walked over to the middle of the roof. “As big as you can make it.”

“If this is supposed to be some sort of prank, you’re not funny.”

“It’s not a prank, trust me.”

Sniper exhaled loudly again, but he was willing to comply. He dipped the branch, needle side first, into the ink, and began drawing a shaky circle.

"Make it as big as you can," Spy added. He'd taken his disguise kit out, but no cigarettes.

Sniper gave a noncommittal grunt, just kept drawing the circle. He was surprised how infrequently he needed to refresh the ink in his giant brush. Maybe it was the moisture in the air.

"There," he finally said. "We killed ten minutes, now what?"

"Step back," Spy said. "Not too far, just make sure you're out of the circle."

Sniper stepped back. Something clicked in his mind. An image flashed in his head - one of Medic sitting on his table, knife in one hand, glowing magic in the other. The markings on the table, the red markings...

"Spy?" Sniper asked, sounding almost as panicked as he felt. "What exactly are you doing?"

Spy looked up from his disguise kit. He still wasn't taking out any cigarettes.

"You'll see - it's something I learned."

Sniper would've taken another step back, but that would mean stepping off the edge of the roof.

The arcane runes etched on Medic's table. Circles and lines and symbols, glowing red.

"Did you know this ink is very responsive to fire?" Spy asked.

"No...? Why would I?"

The rogue didn't answer the question, but he smiled a little before removing his lighter from the kit.

As soon as his thumb clicked the safety, sparked the thing, and let out a bit of flame, white light rose from the red ink circle. Wind rushed out, but it didn't hit the Sniper as hard as he could feel it.

When the shafts of light settled down back to the rooftop, Sniper could see several more messy circles glowing within the large one he'd drawn. And between the rings - lines, symbols, odd markings, odd characters.

"Jacques!" Sniper yelled. He didn't bother shielding his eyes; he was still wearing glasses.

Another wave of wind surged out, and again, it didn't push against Sniper at all. This time, though, he felt heat and... dryness. The slight mist had disappeared. His clothes weren't wet anymore, not even a bit. The sky, though, was still grey.

Spy was still standing in the middle of the circle, holding the unlit lighter in a gloved hand. He twirled his hand, and the glowing runes rose from the rooftop. They shrank and wrapped around his forearm before fading away.

"Jacques?" Sniper asked, unsure of what to say.

"Robin," Spy responded, exuding calm.

"What the bloody hell did you just do?"

"... Magic. Isn't it obvious?"

"You're the one who said it was unsafe and dangerous!"

Spy frowned. "Only if one is not completely knowledged in what they are doing."

"And you know what you're doing," Sniper replied flatly.

"Bien sur. I don't practice it like the Medic and Demoman do. I just asked the demolitions expert to teach me one thing. He was happy to oblige, and even gave me more than I'd asked for."

"So what did you ask for? What did you do?"

"I got rid of the pine - _rosemary,_ I hope."

Sniper sniffed. The smell that had plagued him for so long was gone.

"Holy dooley," he mumbled.

Spy approached his friend, picked up his thermos, and handed it to him.

"Th-thanks..." Sniper added.

"De riens. Let's go have breakfast," Spy said, turning and heading for the door that lead downstairs. 

"Wait, didn't you already eat?"

Spy faltered, but only for the briefest moment. "How did you know?" he asked.

Sniper shrugged. "Mi- Scout told me. How else do you think I'd know to come up here?"

Spy relaxed slightly. "Oui, well, I did eat. You have not, so let's get going."

Without any more comments, he opened the door and re-entered base.

 

The drizzle had lightened by the time everyone assembled in respawn, though it was still just barely noticeable. A bit of sunshine was poking out from the cloud cover, but the air was cold.

Sniper’s thermos bounced against his hip. He’d emptied Medic’s drink from yesterday into his sink because, frankly, he felt a lot better since yesterday. Physically. He was sure he’d be able to drink his coffee and not suffer any awful ramifications for doing so. It was just a bit of caffeine.

The five-minute warning sounded as he polished his rifle scope. It was among his weapon-related habits. He hated having to shoot through a dirty scope, when the rain already had a tendency to make things annoying. Being in the desert, at least, meant it didn’t rain so much. All he had to worry about _there_ was a faint reddish dust, a residue on his lens, from the ground. Nothing too bothersome. The heat was preferable to the frequent rain, that much he was sure of.

Faint whistling from Engineer sitting beside him brought him back to the present, and his thoughts restarted.

More important than the weather and climate of Nightfall... what was up with Spy? He’d warned Sniper himself not to get close to magic - something the marksman could still hardly understand - and then he went on and cast a spell of his own. It was baffling. Despite having been close to Spy for well over a year, he wasn’t sure what to make of this turn of events.

Did Spy just not trust Medic to do magic? Sniper supposed that wasn’t entirely unreasonable, anyway. The man of medicine was an unstable individual at the best of times - along with a majority of their fellow mercenaries.

_“One minute until the start of the round.”_

But bloody hell, was he attractive.

“Drinking again so soon?”

Sniper nearly jumped off the bench, cursing softly as Spy walked up to him. The Frenchman shook his head.

“You know, if I was my BLU counterpart, you would be dead by now.”

“Lucky for me you aren’t,” Sniper grumbled.

Spy pointed his Your Eternal Reward at his friend’s face in a mock-threatening manner. “I pray you can pay attention today.”

“I’ll be fine,” Sniper said.

“I thought you weren’t supposed to have any coffee, mon ami.”

Sniper shrugged. “I already had a cup this morning, so it’s a bit late to stop me.”

Spy shook his head again, in a way that could only be described as paternal.

“Would you like me to ask Medic?”

“No!” Sniper yelled. Heads turned, and he repeated, more quietly, “No.”

The Frenchman raised an eyebrow at the overreaction. “I care about your wellbeing, and he knows more about whether or not you should be allowed to consume caffeine than I do.”

“You told me not to trust what he does to me.”

“Tsk. I told you not to trust magic unless the magician knows exactly what they are doing. Or they are experienced enough to, to... _bullshit_ their way through the situation. I trust the Medic as a doctor, until it comes to surgery or drugs, at least.”

“Caffeine’s a drug, mate.”

Spy swatted his hat. “You know what I mean. I’m just telling you that I do not think it’s safe for you to be drinking coffee. There is still magic in your system and you should hope for your body to purge it soon. Do not lower your chances of recovering.”

“But I’ve already recovered!”

Spy pinched the bridge of his nose, a habit. “It’s... it’s like having surgery, oui? You have to give your body a chance to recover. Of course, the effects of having magic practiced on you aren’t always physical - they may be mental or emotional, but they’re still _effects,_ and they can linger. Sometimes, there are triggers that worsen these effects.

“Caffeine, for example, affects your brain. Magic can also do the same thing. I’m not an expert on what happens in the brain or with hormones, but - are you _listening?_ \- magic can conflict with other substances, and harm you.”

Sniper was silent for a bit before responding, “It’s just coffee.”

“Give me the coffee, Robin.”

“No! ‘S my coffee, I had to brew two pots this morning ‘cause I burned the first one! I put too much damn effort into this bloody coffee to just give it away.”

 _“Robin,”_ Spy repeated.

Sniper smacked his friend’s hand away from his thermos. “Get away from my coffee!” he growled.

_“Ten...”_

“Just give it to me! You’re going to end up killing yourself with your stupid caffeine addiction!”

“Ow! That hurt, you arse!”

_“Five...”_

The two were smacking each other on the bench. They didn’t even notice that they’d taken it over completely. Not wanting to cause a ruckus, Engineer had just grabbed his things and gotten up.

_“Three, two, one.”_

Scout approached the bench. He was hesitant, but he looked worried.

“Don’t bother,” Engineer told him, hefting his toolbox on his shoulder. “Leave ‘em to their tussle. They’ll be out and about sooner or later - and we need you up front, boy.”

Scout watched him go, waited a moment before he, too, exited respawn.

“Give me the fucking coffee!” Spy yelled. He made a wild grab for the thermos, but Sniper deflected his hand, throwing off his balance. Out of desperation, Spy grabbed Sniper’s arm and they were both sent to the floor, wrestling and spitting like alley cats.

Spy, with his expert fingers, managed to unclip the thermos from Sniper’s belt.

A shadow fell over the pair. Spy was shoved to the floor, but he didn’t relinquish his grasp on the thermos.

“Take it, _docteur!"_ he yelled as Sniper tried to pin him down. “Catch!” he added, throwing the thermos.

The bottle sailed over Medic’s shoulder and hit the wall.

“What the _fuck_ are you two doing?” he snapped, Medi Gun at the ready.

Sniper froze and looked up. He remembered, with jarring clarity, how Medic had easily concussed his BLU opposite with a solid whack of the Medi Gun. The marksman climbed off of his teammate.

Spy stood, brushing off his suit as the Medi Gun’s beam was trained on him.

“Explain,” Medic said flatly.

“I was concerned about him! _Le tireur_ has a bottle of coffee for today’s battle,” Spy said, shooting his friend a glare.

Medic looked surprised, but only for a moment. “Herr Sniper, is this true?” he asked, directing his attention and piece of machinery to the gunman.

Sniper scratched the back of his neck and ducked his gaze. “Yeah,” he sighed.

“Spy, you are dismissed.”

_“Docteur-”_

Medic whipped around, shot him a warning glare. “Gehen,” he said quietly.

Spy dipped his head respectfully, cloaked, and exited respawn to join the fighting going on outside.

“Look, doc, I didn’t know I couldn’t, and I’m sorry, alright? I didn’t mean to-”

“Ruhig sein.”

Sniper shut his mouth.

“No coffee,” Medic instructed.

Sniper nodded, still looking down. Medic’s eyes narrowed. He wrapped an arm around his Medi Gun, and used his freed hand to tip Sniper’s chin up.

“Look me in the eye when I speak to you. No coffee. Do you understand? This is for your own safety,” Medic said, releasing the gunman.

Sniper nodded again, making eye contact this time before looking away again. Medic’s features softened.

“Sehr gut,” he said. “Let’s go.”

Medic made his way to leave, but Sniper didn’t follow him. The man was standing, gripping his gun, staring, not quite seeing.

“Sniper?” Medic asked gently.

The Sniper didn’t look up. So Medic approached him. He quickly attached his Medi Gun to its backpack, ignoring the cries of pain outside, and stood in front of the marksman.

“Sniper,” he repeated. When that failed to generate a response, he took Sniper’s hands in his own. It’d be more of a touching gesture if he wasn’t wearing his gloves, but it would have to do.

“I didn’t mean to scold you, schatz. Like Spy, I want you to be safe. Safer than either of us keep ourselves.”

Sniper was quiet, and all the doctor could do was hope he was listening. He let go of one of his hands, bit the tip of a finger, and yanked the glove off before letting it drop to the floor.

At that, Sniper looked up. His eyes widened as Medic took his face in a warm hand and kissed him.

“You are stronger than your thoughts,” Medic whispered fiercely. In his eyes was a bit of that familiar fire, minus the killstreak this time.

“Come on. We must aid our team,” he added, not letting go of Sniper’s hand as he walked out.

The Sniper was struggling to form a coherent response. His heart was hardly fluttering; it was thundering and maybe that was due to his poor dietary habits but also maybe not.

“H-hey, doc,” Sniper managed to stammer before Medic was out the door.

The doctor turned, asked, “Ja?”

Sniper bit his lip, uncharacteristically shy. It didn’t matter if he was scared, it didn’t matter if he had fewer reasons to trust the Medic than he could count on a single hand. What mattered was that he felt something, and it felt real, and it felt good.

He pulled Medic back into respawn by the hand, dropped his gun, wrapped his other arm around his waist, and kissed him again. His heart skipped a beat feeling the Medic relax.

Sniper felt the doctor’s back muscles tense as he pulled away with a great deal of difficulty and reluctance.

“Let’s go,” Medic said again, still so close to Sniper’s mouth that the marksman could practically taste the desire in his words. He didn’t want to start anything in respawn at the beginning of battle though, so he nodded and the two ventured into the fray in unison.

Scout peeked out from behind respawn’s locker full of First Aid kits and ammunition boxes. He was pretty sure neither the Medic nor the Sniper had noticed his presence; he’d been near-silent coming in, the system having pieced him together from fiery death.

He watched them walk out, so in step with each other even though they weren’t actually touching anymore. It was surprisingly endearing. He shoved a handful of bullets into each pocket before bounding out. He took the route up into the shack so as not to disturb the contented conversation they were having. A smile spread on his face, the knowing kind, of one who held a delicious secret between their teeth and was dying to tell, but would never do it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \\\ ...Well maybe instead of 'Hypocrisy', something like 'Severe Caffeine Addiction', 'Sniper and Spy Are Goddamn Animals No Matter How I Write Them', or 'Scout is the Real MVP For Not Interrupting His Teammates Kissing So Give Him a Medal'.
> 
> also can you imagine spy ripping a branch off a tree how did he even pull that off


	4. Heat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note the rating change. //

“Ohh, that was _not_ a good idea,” Medic said, clutching a bottle of whiskey in his gloved hand like his life depended on it. One of his gloves was absent.

“What’re ye talkin’ about?” Demoman asked, sipping from his own bottle.

The two had gotten together for a post-battle drink. RED lost for the day, winning only two rounds in total. It had become a bit of a tradition between them to drink after a day’s loss. In the Medic’s opinion, that was unthinkably cliché. Of course, in the Demo’s opinion, a drink was fine after any work day - win or lose.

The doctor hiccuped loudly. “The whiskey... I think I had too much, ein wenig zu viel.”

“I can tell, ‘cause your accent gets really noticeable when you’re drunk, aye? Also, you're speakin' German.”

“I am _not_ drunk,” Medic insisted. He shot Demo a frown before taking another swallow.

“I dunnae how ye handle th’ straight whiskey,” Demoman said. He did not mention that Medic hadn’t even bothered to add any of his magic potions to the drink, as he genuinely enjoyed doing so and had done on many other evenings. Of course, there was always the too-real possibility of magic and alcohol producing some rather horrible concoctions, but they had respawn...

“It’s good,” Medic said. “It’s great.”

Demoman sighed, patted his poor friend whose body couldn’t handle alcohol for shit, with or without the aid of magic, or alchemy, or anything. At least he could _act_ sober. Sometimes - when it counted.

“I’m gettin’ water,” he said, with a shake of his head. He looked at his friend as if looking at a kicked puppy.

Medic tried to protest and didn’t do a very good job with the bottle to his lips. He spluttered some words that could’ve been either English or German. Demoman had already gotten up, though, and was heading out of the living room, so Medic stopped sitting and starting laying down.

His head was unhappy with his poor choices for the evening. He set the bottle on the floor carefully, and threw a forearm over his eyes to block out the light from the ceiling.

Being sprawled out on the burgundy couch that Medic often found _Demo_ on would’ve been depressing to him, had he not been drunk and giggling to himself despite the dull throbbing headache.

If Demoman wasn’t in the infirmary with Medic, he wasn’t too hard to find. Oftentimes he’d be in his quarters, if not passed out on the living room couch. If another merc wanted to watch TV or sit down to read, they’d either have to pick another seat or deal with sitting on Demo’s legs.

Now Medic had taken his friend’s place. He was rarely seen in the recreational room in the first place. If any of his teammates passed by, they’d likely be confused about his presence. The doctor was used to making himself scarce; if the others needed medical attention, they could come find him themselves.

“Uh, doc, that you?”

The words half-registered in Medic’s head. He groaned in response. The headache was shrinking, but he wasn’t quite yet in the mood to look put-together and professional.

“Are you okay?”

Medic grunted.

“Oi, you’re bloody drunk, aren’tcha?”

At that comment, Medic shifted his arm to see Sniper peering down at him from a respectable two paces away.

“Robin, come over here,” Medic said, a half-thought trying to form in his head.

“You don’t have to call me that,” Sniper said, looking uncomfortable. He didn’t seem to want to get upset at a drunk person, so he didn’t bother reprimanding the doctor for using his first name. And more than that, he didn’t want to get upset with _Medic._

Through the entire battle, he kept thinking about their kisses in respawn room. Sniper had only made a couple of headshots, which had undoubtedly contributed to the team’s eventual loss. Now, out of the heat of the moment and day, his confusion and lack of sureness about his emotions were returning.

Medic ignored the comment and stretched his arm out to grab Sniper’s pants with his one bare hand.

Sniper swatted it away gently and approached the German so as to placate him. 

“Sit,” Medic said as he made no attempt to move.

“You’re takin’ up all the space there, doc.”

_“Sit.”_

Sniper did not sit. One of Medic’s legs was hanging off the side of the couch and he didn’t want to plant himself on top of the other leg.

“Mein gott, Robin, sit with me,” Medic groused. He sat up, reached to grab Sniper’s shirt, and pulled him down on top over himself.

The Sniper gave a shout of surprise. His left hand clutched the top of one of the couch cushions, his right elbow landed beside Medic’s head, and his knee... oh bloody hell.

Medic rubbed his chin with the bare hand not gripping Sniper's shirt. “Hm, ja, better,” he said, oblivious to Sniper’s quivering as he tried to hold himself up so as not to fall on top of the doctor.

“Actually, if you would be so kind to get your knee out of my crotch.”

Sniper face reddened as he shifted his leg.

“Can I get up now?” he asked, lifting himself off of the couch with his arm.

“Nein, this is important,” Medic said, frowning.

“Th’ hell are you talkin’ about?” Sniper sighed.

The Medic raised his hands and placed them on Sniper’s shoulders.

“Shh, shh,” he said, moving them up to his neck.

Sniper jerked away from him at the touch. He’d felt those hands several times, and he was fairly sure that their current temperature could give him first degree burns. He still kind of wanted to let Medic touch him, especially considering everything that had happened earlier.

“Aye, doc? I din’t bring ye the water bottle, but I got a cup,” Demoman called.

Sniper cursed, shoved off of the couch, and practically threw himself at the floor. How would he explain to Medic’s best friend if he walked in on Sniper on top of the drunk doctor? He'd look like he was taking advantage of the German. Then Demo might beat him up, or _worse._

“Sniper! Why are ye on the floor?” Demoman asked, holding the cup of water. “Are ye alright?”

“I fell,” he lied. A faint throb echoed through his arm, which had taken most of his weight.

Medic sat up and took the cup of water from his friend. Demoman helped Sniper off of the floor he’d thrown himself on.

“We were having an important conversation,” Medic said insistently.

“Really?” Demoman asked, raising an eyebrow. The response had been directed to Medic, but the eyebrow raise was not.

Sniper dropped Demo’s gaze. He didn’t want to answer because he wasn’t sure where Medic was going with his explanation.

“Ja, ja,” Medic continued. He downed the rest of the cup of water, nearly spilling most of it on the couch. “I was just about to invite him to drink.”

Demoman laughed loudly. “Oy, he’s almost as much of a lightweight as _you_ are.”

Sniper glared at the Scotsman. “I am _not,_ ” he grumbled, indignant.

The Medic hiccuped from the couch and picked up the bottle of whiskey from the floor. He thrust it towards Sniper, who grimaced.

“I’m not watchin’ this,” Demo said, shaking his head in consternation. “I’m going to help Pyro cook dinner. For your _own_ sakes, drink some water after. Take care of him, Sniper.” He sighed and exited the living room again.

Sniper suppressed a panicked noise in his throat, resisting the instinct to call the Demoman back. What the bloody hell was he to do alone with the drunk Medic? Be _helpful?_

“Robinnn,” Medic whined, jiggling the bottle in what Sniper assumed was supposed to be an inviting manner.

He took it, more because he didn’t want the doctor to drop it than because he actually wanted to drink it. He didn’t react well to strong alcohol. 

“If you’re not going to have any, I want it back,” Medic said.

“No,” Sniper said quickly. The German was far too intoxicated already, and to make that situation worse would just be asking for trouble.

It wasn’t until after Sniper took a few swigs that he realized he could’ve just thrown the rest of it away. It burned his throat going down.

“Good, ja?” Medic asked brightly.

Sniper groaned in reply, disgusted at the offending beverage. Not so much at its flavour, which he hardly balked at, but more because of how it felt. He shoved Medic’s leg back up onto the couch and sat down in the space remaining. Medic did not appreciate the gesture and readjusted his legs, setting them over Sniper’s lap and effectively trapping him.

“Are you going to finish it?” Medic asked. It sounded like a challenge. It sounded like a dare.

Sniper cocked his head. How was he going to dispose of it _now?_ Medic wouldn’t let him go. _Clearly,_ there was only one solution. At least, the gunman could really only come up with one solution while his throat was on fire. He nodded and chugged the rest of the whiskey in one go. It didn’t go down easy. He coughed hard, nearly shattering the bottle as he dropped it onto the floor.

His reaction made Medic giggle. Sniper shot him a sideways glare as he continued to cough. Medic’s giggling escalated into uncontrollable, hooting laughter. It took all of Sniper’s willpower not to throw the Medic off the couch.

The marksman was grateful when the coughing subsided and Medic calmed down. Both because he was embarrassed and because his legs had been kicking dangerously close to Sniper’s face.

“Oh, that’s cute,” the doctor said, grinning. His glasses were askew and his hair curl was out of place.

“Shut up,” Sniper muttered hoarsely.

Medic sat up faster than Sniper could’ve anticipated, and flung his arms around him. Sniper would’ve told him to get off had Medic not shifted himself closer, almost over Sniper’s lap but not quite. His burning hot hands were, thankfully, not on Sniper’s person, so he didn’t pull away just yet.

When Medic pressed his lips to Sniper’s neck, the marksman decided he was plenty comfortable where he was. Even if his stomach was swirling and his head was already foggy.

Wordlessly, Medic kissed along his jawline, relishing the feel of his stubble.

“Are you going to do this in the living room?” Sniper asked quietly. But one of his hands was already snaking up Medic’s side of its own accord. This was happening quicker than he’d anticipated anything happening and he was determined to keep up. 

The doctor leaned over a bit to press into his hand, which made him growl.

“We should move,” he said, his breath hot against Sniper’s skin.

Sniper bit his lip as the doctor pulled back and hopped off the couch. He wasn’t nearly as shaky standing up as the Sniper was.

“Come,” Medic said softly, leading the way out of the rec room. He looked around before they left. Not a single soul was in sight, though there was some shouting coming from the general direction of the kitchen and dining room.

 

Sniper wanted to know how the Medic affected him in such an intense, unforgiving manner.

When he was around the doctor, when he got _close,_ he wanted nothing but to be closer. When they were apart, his thoughts collided and muddled and formed a messy pile of feelings he couldn’t quite sort out. He still didn’t understand what he felt. Was it just physical? Had the Medic cast some spell on him to make him this way? Was horniness a side effect of magic? The possibilities were endless.

He didn’t admit to himself that maybe there were feelings he was deliberately _not_ considering.

“Get _in,_ ” Medic said, yanking Sniper into the infirmary and slamming the doors shut. He shoved Sniper to the wall with one hand and locked the door with the other. He then pressed his palms to the wall on either side of Sniper’s head. Heat was still radiating off of them.

The sun was setting, and deep orange rays shot through the glass, bathing the pair in light and shadows that danced with their movements.

Sniper found himself unable to do much more than stare at Medic - something he noticed himself doing far too often over the past few days.

It was hard to blame the marksman; Medic commanded attention with his icy blue eyes, half-lidded. A blush was gracing his cheeks. When he licked his lips just so, Sniper grabbed the back of his head and kissed him, hard and needy.

A whimper escaped his throat.

Sniper parted slightly, already riled up and panting as he begged, “Doc, _tell me how you do this to me._ ”

Medic gave him a toothy smirk. He leaned forward and bit Sniper’s bottom lip before responding.

“I didn’t do anything.”

Sniper grabbed him firmly by the hips to shove him back so he could ensure his words were heard and processed.

“You don’t know what you’re saying.”

As soon as the marksman’s grip on him loosened, he took a step back.

“Come,” he said. “Let me sleep with you.”

Sniper reddened. If he’d been turned on before, that was nothing compared to how that one blunt statement flustered him.

“I- we’re both _drunk,_ I can’t do that. I’m pretty sure we’re both too tired to...” Sniper couldn’t finish his sentence, but he didn’t need to.

Medic smiled a bit, all warmth, like his palms. He turned and walked to the sink. Swiftly and with more coordination than one would expect out of a drunk person, he pulled out two mugs from the cupboard to fill with water.  
Sniper trailed after him, hesitant but not wanting to leave.

“Not like that,” Medic promised. “I-” he began before stopping himself, as if to start another train of thought. “I’m tired, too. I have a bed. So come and sleep with me.”

Sniper scratched the back of his head, tipping his hat forward, and nodded.

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, alright, I can do that.”

The two made their way to Medic’s room attached to the medbay. Medic managed to unlock it after fumbling only twice.

“Nice place,” Sniper said.

“Have you never seen it before?” Medic asked. He supposed that no, most of his teammates hadn’t seen the place, considering he kept his door locked at all times so nobody would look through his things. “It’s a bit messy, I apologize.”

“It’s fine,” Sniper chuckled. Nervousness fluttered in his chest. He hoped it wasn’t obvious, and took a sip of water so as to appear nonchalant. He almost choked on it.

Medic finished his water and began unbuttoning his jacket. For once, he called Sniper out for staring.

“Do you think I wear this to sleep?” he teased.

Sniper averted his gaze. “No,” he replied. “I just wasn’t expecting...” He trailed off as he refocused on the Medic, whose swift finger movements enraptured him.

“You’re drunker than I am,” Medic stated.

“You were a lot worse in the living room,” Sniper mumbled.

Medic undid his belt and tossed it aside. He walked around the bed over to the Sniper to set his glasses on the table.

“I recover quickly when I have a reason to,” he said with smugness, pulling the white uniform coat off.

“I’m your reason not to act drunk?”

Medic dropped the coat on the floor. “It’s not an act,” he insisted.

“You seem pretty sober now.”

“Ja, well, I’ve had plenty of experience in acting sober,” Medic said, laughing a bit as he unbuttoned his vest. Sniper was very sure that Medic had some magic charms on his own fingers, because his ability to unbutton was impressive.

Medic went on with his statement. “After almost every losing battle from today since about six months ago, I’ve had at least of cup of alcohol. So yes, I would think that counts as plenty of experience.”

Sniper managed to take off his hat and vest with minimal difficulty, then his aviators, which he set on the bedside table gently, beside Medic’s glasses.

“You don’t have to act sober,” he said.

Medic shrugged and told him, “It’s a habit. Once I get past the initial drunkenness, I hide it so the rest of you cannot tell the difference.”

“You’re bloody good at it.”

That got another laugh out of the doctor. “The façade only lasts for as long as it needs to. I’m exhausted, and the more tired I am, the less sober I will seem. Do you need help with your shirt?” he asked.

“I can sleep like this,” Sniper replied, frowning down at his outfit.

“Really, now? I’m afraid you will have to take off your shoes, at the very least.”

“Oh, right,” Sniper said, taking a seat on the bed and leaning down to remove his shoes.

Once again, the mundanity of a situation being with the Medic struck the marksman. Maybe... maybe that was why he felt the way he did. Medic, of all people, helped him feel like life could be _normal_. There was no escaping the war when they lived in a base full of weapons and explosives, but at least he could try to forget about it for a little while.

The alcohol helped.

“Lass mich dir helfen,” Medic murmured, approaching the Sniper sitting on his bed. He kissed the marksman under his ear and made his way down his neck. “Let me help you,” he translated.

Sniper could feel Medic tugging at his shirt, pulling it out of his pants. Where the doctor made contact with him, he could feel his skin tingling, but tingling was better than potentially burning. Perhaps his hands had cooled down enough so that they could touch. Sniper wanted to be touched.

The shirt was lifted off of him. Sniper lifted his arms, and Medic cast it off onto the growing pile of clothes.

Medic kissed him quickly. Their foreheads bumped together.

“Earlier today,” Medic began as his hands reached for Sniper’s belt.

Sniper’s heart raced. He might’ve been drunk off his arse, but he wasn’t about to forget the tender moments the two had shared, mere hours earlier. What was he to make of all that? Everything was so sudden, happening too fast for him to fully comprehend...

“I was gentle with you,” Medic continued, trying to undo the belt. His gaze flitted up, and he made a moment of eye contact. “The day before, less so.”

“You healed my wound,” Sniper pointed out, trying not to bite his lip again and end up looking like a shy virgin schoolgirl.

“Yes,” Medic whispered, with such force and fervour that it was jarring. He was breathless, and Sniper wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was because he was playing with his belt, unable to get it off. That didn’t seem to bother the doctor, though, and he went on.

“I-I was not able to control myself. Bitte. I’m still sorry about that... You might have enjoyed it, you might have wanted to run away. Either way, it was wrong of me to do that to you.”

Sniper swallowed hard. “I enjoyed it,” he admitted, his voice hardly audible.

Medic looked up again, mouth slightly open like he wanted to say or do something. Instead, he returned his attention to the belt.

“I’m flattered,” he said before pausing, thinking. “I doubt I’m in complete control of my mental facilities right now. Well, I’m not. I can’t even get your belt off. Bitte. I just know that I have more control of myself now. I had the Demoman help me brew what I needed, in the middle of the night no less, and I feel more or less like my normal self... albeit drunk.”

Medic pulled the end of the belt out through the buckle. Sniper cupped Medic’s face in his hands and tilted his head carefully until the doctor was looking him in the eye.

"Hey, listen to me. I don’t mind the real you - under the magic potions and everything? I really don’t mind.”

Medic shook his head. Sniper’s hands retreated, but Medic let go of the belt to press them back against his face.

"While I have not heard anything so kind in a long time, the simple fact remains that the real me includes magic, and the real me needs to be kept in check. Not necessarily because I _must_ suppress who I am - but because that’s safer for everyone. Especially while we are fighting this war.”

His voice dipped down, and so did his head. Still, he did not let go of Sniper’s hands. They were growing warmer thanks to his own palms against them.

“If I go too long without _drugging_ myself o-or using magic to stop myself, it’d be too easy for me to lose all sense of self-control. Part of the reason I was hired is because of my sadomasochistic nature, Robin. The same goes for my BLU opposite. It’s-” Medic took a deep breath. “-Shameful. Both of us are. Leave either of us unchecked for too long, and at the first sign of a bleeding wound on somebody, we will be tearing it open with our teeth. At least, I’m sure it’s the same with _him_. That’s not my concern. What I’m worried about is this: how far would I go if I was unrestrained?”

Medic let go of Sniper’s hands, which settled back down on the bed on either side of his hips, helping to keep him upright. The doctor looked down, eyeing the belt.

“Sometimes I fear the answer,” he said softly. “I’ve grown dependant on the mix that gives me self-control and suppresses my... inhuman needs. Addiction is not the _worst_ possible outcome, but it’s not a good one. When I did what I did to you, I’d been without it for a few days. Already, I could feel the withdrawal symptoms worsening.”

Medic shrugged off his vest, then he looked up again.

“When you interrupted me in the middle of a very precarious magic routine - I lost it. Had your wound been fully healed by the time you walked in, maybe things would've have turned out differently. I suppose it triggered a rather explosive reaction.”

Sniper’s head was pounding but he wanted nothing more than to hold onto every last word the doctor was pouring out.

“Wouldn’t have changed it for the world, mate,” he said. It was no lie. He’d enjoyed being pinned to the wall and would let the doctor do it to him again. Of course, he wasn’t sure if it was a good idea for the Medic to _know_ that, but they were really drunk, so would any of his words be remembered tomorrow, anyway? Maybe, maybe not.

Medic had loosened his tie and unbuttoned his dress shirt. Sniper thought that he wore a preposterous number of buttoned shirts. The only button he had on any of his uniform clothes was the one on his pants, which Medic had already undone.

The tie, though. Sniper would never be able to put up with wearing one everyday. How Medic and Spy managed was a mystery to him. It was red and silky, it was dangling in front of Medic’s chest, and Sniper’s eyes followed it like a cat watching its prey, ready to pounce.

“You’re too sweet,” Medic said with a half-smile.

Sniper took a deep breath. His movements were hardly fluid but they were purposeful. He placed a hand on Medic’s lower back, grabbed the tie, and yanked him closer. He was not anticipating the doctor completely losing his balance and falling on him. At least the bed was soft.

Sniper kissed him repeatedly, his hand fisting Medic’s dress shirt, which he hadn’t managed to take off yet. He removed his other hand from Medic’s tie to his back so he could press him closer.

When the marksman bucked his hips upward, Medic practically lost it. He moaned loudly into Sniper’s mouth and reached down to pull his pants off.

“Kiss me, bitte, kiss me,” he whined.

Sniper growled in response.

“We’re never going to sleep if we keep this up,” Medic said.

“Doc, you don’t even sleep,” Sniper stated, nipping at his neck.

Medic didn’t really have anything to say to that; Sniper had a point.

“We’re drunk and tired, we shouldn't - _ah!_ \- do this,” he protested.

Sniper removed his teeth from the doctor’s neck. “I can let you sleep,” he promised, gently prying Medic off of him. It required a great deal of willpower to do so; the German was hard to resist when his face was flushed and he was begging for more with the look in his eyes.

Medic got off of Sniper and worked his boots and pants off on the edge of the bed. He looked somewhat relieved, but it was impossible for him to hide the disappointment that was there, too.

“Do you wear anything to sleep?” Sniper asked, staring at his Medic. The doctor had his back to him, but Sniper didn’t have anything else in the room he’d rather focus on.

“Nein. I don’t sleep much, so it would be pointless.”

“So we’re, uh, gonna sleep together... like _this?_ ”

Medic turned his attention from his sock garter to Sniper’s vague gesturing at himself. He was wearing boxers and his one fingerless glove. Medic returned his attention to his garters.

“I don’t see why not,” he replied neatly.

Sniper rubbed his face with a hand. “Sounds like you’re tryin’ to start something.”

Medic grinned. “Perhaps the issue is that you _think_ I’m trying to start something, when I am merely offering you a nap.”

Sniper grunted. “Hardly just a nap, mate. I can do that in my own room.”

Medic kicked his clothing pile towards the wall. “But will you?” he asked, turning back around to face the marksman.

Sniper cocked his head to the side, scanning the German with his eyes, giving him a thorough onceover. “Do you really think I’m leavin’ now?” he asked. “I’m already comfortable.”

That was probably the booze talking, but Sniper had passed the point of caring. He was warm and he was in someone else’s bed and even though his _sober_ self would not have tripped and fallen into such a situation, his drunk self was openly unwilling to root himself out of it.

Although, had he been sober, it would’ve been quite the battle between his desire and his social ineptitude.

Again, the alcohol helped.

“Then stay with me,” Medic murmured, his eyes flitting downwards and landing on Sniper’s undone belt. Sniper thought he had a look of longing on his face, but it could’ve also been the flush of drunkenness.

Sniper shifted closer to him on the bed, stroked the side of his face with a hand, and kissed him. The essence of whiskey was heavy as it lingered in the air. Medic climbed onto Sniper’s lap and eased him back down onto the bed.

“May I?” he asked, pressing a hand against Sniper’s hip, his fingers dipping down under his pants.

Sniper’s mouth went dry, but he managed to nod. The heat was returning to Medic’s hands, and it was becoming difficult to bear his hot palms, which the marksman likened to an open flame. Medic was straddling the Sniper as he worked his pants down and off of him.

Sniper did not expect Medic to squeeze his inner thigh.

One of his hands flew up to his face and he bit down on it. “Holy-! Slow down there, mate,” he gasped, leaving the accusation out of his voice. Medic was the one who wanted to just sleep, and Sniper was forcing himself to comply.

Medic looked up, apologetic. “Sorry about that,” he said.

“Your hands are hot.”

The doctor raised one of his hands, palm side up, and studied it for a moment as if he’d never seen it before. He wiggled his fingers. “Ja, I suppose they are.”

“Do you not notice it?” Sniper asked as Medic sidled up to him.

“I did, when I had just started channeling. It felt like my palms were melting, even when I wasn’t casting magic. Every time I died in battle, I’d take some time in respawn to pull my gloves off and check on my hands. They were always fine, it just didn’t _feel_ like they were. A trick of the nerve signals, perhaps.

“Now, I hardly notice it. My hands are never cold; they’re perpetually warm. I only notice when they heat up an exponential amount, which happens sometimes. For instance, when I-... when I’m casting an intensive spell.”

Medic placed his hand back on Sniper’s thigh, dangerously close to where Sniper was sure he did not want Medic to place his hands if they were to be sleeping together in the non-sexual sense.

“No matter how hot they get, they cannot burn you. It may feel like they’re burning your skin, but I assure you they won’t do that unless I’m trying to set you on fire... which I’m not very good at doing. Ah, but the Pyro is! They’re almost as good as the Demoman when it comes to magic. _They_ can set people on fire. I’ve seen it, but I cannot do the same. Not yet, at least.”

Sniper squinted at him. “I din’t need to know that you can burn me if you _wanted_ to,” he said. He would’ve preferred just assuming that the burning happened inadvertently.

Medic finally decided to lay down on the bed, pressing into Sniper’s side at a closer proximity than the marksman had been mentally preparing himself for. He tensed as Medic’s hand inched its way up.

“I wouldn’t,” the doctor promised, continuing to pet his thigh in slow, warm circles.

“Doc, if you don’t stop doing that, I’m not letting you sleep,” Sniper snarled. It was a weak warning; he was getting a hard-on already.

Medic drew closer to Sniper and bit his earlobe teasingly, a clear gesture showing what he wanted.

“I already told you I don’t sleep.”

“But _I_ do,” Sniper said through gritted teeth. “For the most part.”

The doctor laughed softly, in a manner reminiscent of the time Sniper had visited him at five o’clock in the morning. It was very endearing and had Sniper a bit more energy he might’ve gotten on top of Medic and grinded on him into submission.

As it turned out, Medic was the one on top, because he climbed over Sniper again. The marksman was thankful that the warm hand was removed from his leg, but now he had another threat to contend with.

“How much sleep do you require to function?” he asked, straddling the Sniper again.

Sniper rolled his eyes in a weak try at conveying aloofness. “More than you do,” he answered.

Medic licked his lips again as he got an eyeful of Sniper’s bare chest.

“Are you ticklish?”

Sniper looked horrified. “No. Bloody hell, no. Why do you ask-”

He didn’t get to finish his sentence before Medic pressed one hand on his stomach and gripped his hip with another hand. For support, because Medic started grinding against Sniper.

“Medic!” Sniper yelled. He stifled his first moan but was unable to muffle the second one. With a frustrated growl of need, his hands flew to Medic’s hips to push themselves harder against each other.

“Oh, your eyes are lovely when you’re aroused,” Medic commented.

“Arse,” Sniper huffed. “You’re the one who said not to _start shit._ ”

The doctor smiled. Sniper wasn’t sure how to feel about the sight of him smiling because he could feel Medic’s boner against his own. Of course, it was through two layers too many of fabric, but he could definitely feel it and it was turning him on even further. Not that Medic being so close to him, the way he was not, had ever failed to turn him on over the past few days. After all, he looked rather fetching with his eyes, still cold, icy blue and piercing, in contrast with his red face.

“Harder,” Medic whispered.

Sniper found himself unable to do anything but obey the simple order, especially when waves of heat were pouring out of Medic’s hands. They felt dangerous, not unlike nearing a hot stove, but it felt so fucking _amazing_ that the pleasure outweighed everything else.

“How drunk _are_ you?” the marksman asked. It was a rhetorical question, but he received a response nonetheless.

“Very. Not as drunk as you are, although I am still drunk. I don’t think we’d be doing this if we weren’t drunk. You’re very shy. I suppose I am, too.”

“You’re the one who started grinding on my dick.”

“Are you protesting?”

“...No.”

“Can you go any faster?” Medic asked, panting. He was finally sounding like he was drunk; he was slurring a bit.

Sniper nodded tersely. His fingernails dug into Medic’s skin and it made the German whimper. The noise was music to his ears, and Sniper wished he could’ve done more to show how he felt about it.

Of course, his erection was evidence enough of how he felt about it. At the very least, he managed not to embarrass himself because he was able to retain at least _some_ self-control.

All his self-control went to the wind a few minutes later, as Medic arched his back and _keened_.

Sniper lifted Medic off of him enough so he could shift himself, shove him onto the bed, and position himself over the Medic, who was quivering with need.

“I hope you’re not regretting this,” Sniper said, sounding and looking positively feral.

“Not at all,” Medic managed to say.

Sniper yanked the doctor’s briefs off, followed by his boxers.

“Listen, doc,” he began, his voice sending shivers down Medic’s spine.

“Shh,” Medic whispered. “You don’t have to explain anything to me. Go ahead. Do it,” he said. His voice was almost a purr.

Sniper bit his neck so hard that he cried out, more in surprise than pain. He took both of their lengths in one hand. They were both wet with pre-cum and he had a feeling their tryst wouldn’t last much longer.

He didn’t remove his teeth from Medic’s neck as he rubbed the head of his cock with a finger. He wanted to make the moment last, but his resolve weakened as Medic bucked his hips.

The doctor was literally underneath the Sniper and he still found a way to assert dominance.

Sniper gave in and started grinding again.

“Robin, _please,_ ” Medic whined. He wrapped a hand around Sniper’s to guide it up and down. “Just finish me - us - off.”

Sniper stopped biting Medic’s neck to take some deep breaths. He ran his tongue over his teeth experimentally and tasted blood. A quick glance to Medic’s neck and he noticed he’d left quite the mark. His saliva on the doctor’s skin was tinged with red, just barely visible in the sunset’s light coming through the window.

“Oh, shit,” he whispered, his hand making an awkward stop around their erections. “‘M sorry about that, I-”

His drunk, rambling apology landed on deaf ears. Medic relished the feel of bleeding and even though he’d taken his poison less than a day ago, he was already riled up and Sniper stood no chance against him, who propped himself up on one arm, wrapped the other around Sniper’s head, and bit Sniper’s neck in a beautiful reciprocal gesture.

“Fuck, _fuck,_ your hand is really hot,” Sniper hissed, feeling Medic’s fingers clutch his shoulder, burning hotter than before. He might’ve jerked back had the German’s arm not been holding him in what was almost a headlock. 

And of course, there was the problem with their cocks being pressed together in his hand.

Sniper was feeling greatly conflicted. He could feel Medic’s teeth on the right side his neck, already breaking his skin, causing pain to radiate from his skin. On his left shoulder was Medic’s hand, which very much felt like it was burning his skin but Medic had assured him it would not actually burn him. And the pleasure from his _lower_ region was surprisingly hard to ignore.

It was a sensory overload and he was rendered motionless.

Medic, however, was not. He sucked on Sniper’s skin, even where it was bleeding, _especially_ where it was bleeding. He continued bucking his hips, and the friction tipped him over the edge.

Medic cried out, in a single moment his carnal needs satisfied with his climax.

Sniper was honestly relieved when Medic’s mouth and hands slipped off of him as he dropped back onto the bed. The pain lingered, but at least the ridiculous heat was fading. His hard-on, however...

Sniper lifted off of the Medic. His back was upright and from his vantage point, he could watch as the Medic recovered quicker than he would’ve expected. The doctor sat up a bit to rest on his elbows, though he was still panting.

“Robin, come over here.”

Sniper shifted closer on his knees. Medic pushed himself off of the bed, grabbed Sniper’s right hip with a hand, and took his cock in his right hand. It wasn’t as hot as it was earlier, but Sniper could feel the unnatural amount of heat in it.

He was so damn close that Medic probably could’ve gotten him off with just his hand. Medic, of course, didn’t make it that easy. He leaned forward and put his mouth on it, tasting the pre-cum still leaking out.

“Bloody fucking hell,” Sniper whispered, bringing a hand to his mouth and biting down on his knuckle so as not to _scream_. He willed himself not to thrust into Medic’s mouth, but it was difficult not to.

The tiredness from being drunk didn’t matter anymore. He wanted release, and damn it, if Medic was going to provide, then he’d take it with the fevered need that he held _just_ for the beautiful German doctor. He was definitely both German and beautiful, not to mention really good with his mouth, so good it was driving the Sniper mad because the teasing alone was putting him on edge.

“Are you really doin’ this when we’re both drunk?” Sniper asked. It was another rhetorical question, made pointless by the fact that Medic had already came so they were very much doing _something_.

Medic hummed in response, sucking on the head of Sniper’s cock. He dug his fingers into the marksman’s hips, hard enough that Sniper thought he’d probably leave little bruises but he didn’t really care; it felt good to be touched the way he was being touched and he didn’t want it to stop.

He wanted more. He was skirting on the edge of immense pleasure and he wanted to be sent over the edge like Medic had been, even though he’d never have an orgasm as... graceful.

Medic surprised him, in midst of his thoughts, with a very sudden and brief deepthroat. Sniper gave an animalistic growl, a harsher noise than any he’d made before. One of his hands pressed against the back of Medic’s head.

He could hardly restrain himself, but he managed to ask, mirroring Medic’s words from earlier, “May I?”

Medic tongue pressed against the underside of Sniper’s cock. He hummed again, this time in affirmation as he also gave a slight nod.

Sniper decided that was the cue to finally drop his self-control and lose himself to the haze of lust and alcohol’s effects.

He grabbed the back of Medic’s dark hair, and thrust his hips forward. He could feel the constriction of Medic’s throat and knew he wouldn’t be able to last much longer, which was just as well, because the doctor could only handle so much asphyxiation.

Sniper threw his head back and came down Medic’s throat with a loud groan. He pulled Medic back by the hair so as not to choke him.

The adrenaline Sniper had been running on had left him, and it took just about all his remaining strength to fall beside the German instead of on top of him.

“Thanks,” Sniper murmured, catching his breath.

Medic rolled over to Sniper’s side. He was fairly sure the marksman had passed out, and he threw an arm over the gunman before he, too, succumbed to his exhaustion.

 

There was a slight, warm breeze swirling its way through the evergreens. Golden-orange shafts of sun slanted down from above, poking through cloud cover and layers of pine needles.

Sniper could feel coolness all around him. He was sitting on a rather large rock. Bits of sand and gravel stuck to his palm, but he hardly noticed.

There was a heat he couldn’t shake. His left waist was burning where the sunlight was hitting it, and he couldn’t be compelled to get off of the rock.

Although he wanted to move, he also didn’t want to move, and he remained just where he was. The sun setting over the forest was a lovely sight that he couldn’t tear his gaze from.

He breathed in harmony with the breeze, and he felt the familiar peace within him that the forest always granted.

He felt content.

Sniper wasn’t expecting the violin refrain cutting through the wafting breeze. It didn’t sound sad, but he couldn’t say it sounded happy, either.

Still, his curiosity allowed him to wrench himself from the boulder and follow the music that reverberated through his very core.

Even as he walked, through shadow and dappled light, he couldn’t quite shake the warmth on his waist, feeling like it was burning.

Then, like a candle being snuffed out, the heat was gone with a breath of the wind. It took all of the warmth and sunlight with it. The yellow, orange, pink hues of the sunset sky were replaced with the deep, star-speckled navy of night.

The violin’s tune continued wafting through the air, growing louder.

Sniper could feel a headache starting to throb, but he didn’t stop following the music. He felt himself get colder and colder, and the wind pick up speed, yet he continued walking.

With a screech of the violin’s bow against its strings, the images melted into darkness, and Sniper fell into a deeper slumber.

 

Medic had woken up before the marksman. He managed to remove his arm from Sniper’s waist without waking him up, and though his head was pounding, he threw back a few painkillers and deemed the headache bearable.

He was drinking a second cup of water, standing at the door of his bedroom, watching Sniper sleep. He looked peaceful. When Sniper stirred, however, he started panicking. What was he to say? It was late, in the middle of the night, and Medic wasn’t drunk anymore, and he wasn’t sure how he’d explain what had happened to Sniper.

He wasn’t sure how much Sniper would remember when he woke up.

He wasn’t sure how Sniper would react.

Medic had spent some time playing violin, simple chords and songs that he really only bothered with when he was particularly anxious. The violin was put down before long. He didn’t want to wake Sniper with it.

With a few waves of his hand over the marksman’s head, and a fistful of dried rosemary in the other hand, he chose not to take the risk of finding out what his hungover reaction would be to waking up in Medic’s infirmary bedroom.

It was wrong. Medic knew it was wrong. But he was selfish, and he didn’t want Sniper to remember what had happened in case he had any qualms about their session.

The memory-affecting spell was one Medic had little practice with. He only knew enough not to leave any horrible, permanent consequences. Hopefully. The spell to put one to sleep was one he’d used even less; he preferred the Medi Gun sedative mix.

“I’m sorry. Forgive me,” he murmured as he carried Sniper’s limp, snoring self over to the examination table.

Medic took a deep breath, sliding one of his pillows under Sniper’s neck. He was able to clean Sniper up with a towel, and bandage the bites on his neck. Medic winced just looking at the damage he’d caused. It was easy to ignore his idle arousal when he’d already gotten off. Of course, Sniper had done the same to _him,_ but that was hardly an issue when Medic could heal himself, easy.

Medic picked up the violin again so he could help clear his mind. He shut himself in his room to play it. He wasn’t sure when Sniper would wake up, but whenever he did, he’d be free to go without the doctor noticing. He told himself that that would be best for Sniper, to be able to make the decision whether or not to go right away.

The bow hit the strings, and Medic dove straight into a complicated melody that he knew by heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \\\ This chapter is partially inspired by these words spoken to me in relation to the topic of Sniper and Medic fucking:
> 
> [2015-04-12 11:39:49 PM] [Slendid](http://slendidnot.com): u should totally build up to it  
> [2015-04-12 11:39:56 PM] [Slendid](http://slendidnot.com): and then have it not happen  
> [2015-04-12 11:40:02 PM] [Slendid](http://slendidnot.com): everyone will be furious
> 
> My response:
> 
> [2015-04-12 11:40:04 PM] $$$ ＤＯＰＥ , ＫＩＤ $$$: LMAOO
> 
> EDIT; [his response after reading this chapter](http://slendidnot.tumblr.com/post/121977340229/djsckatzen-okay-so-dylan-read-ch-4-of-my-gay#notes)


	5. Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would've [formatted](http://ubercharge.co.vu/post/117029713406/sometimes-people-just-get-real-friendly-in-pub-and) this [yesterday](http://ubercharge.co.vu/post/117028217281/good) had [I not played TF2 for about six hours.](http://ubercharge.co.vu/post/117028173406/bisexual-legislature-and-i-were-trying-to-get-a)
> 
> Consider that an authorial research duty.
> 
> Happy 4/20 and remember to [_420 Kritz it, Kameraden._](http://ubercharge.co.vu/post/114448124786/bisexual-legislature-takes-place-in-line-as) //

It was raining again. The weather had been predictable, of course, but it still made Sniper miss the desert sometimes. The clouds overhead were dark and thick, tinted green with his night vision glasses. There was a nip in the air, a slight wind that blew the precipitation around, even through the trees. Droplets gathered and dripped off of deep green needles, and branches dipped down from the weight of all the water hitting them.

The marksman was taking a walk. He was shivering a bit, what with his clothes being soaked, but he had no desire to retreat back to the indoors. His head hurt. His body was sore, some places more than others. He didn’t want to deal with Medic. But most importantly, he needed fresh air. He needed to _breathe._

His head bloody fucking hurt. Going without alcohol for a while and then consuming half a bottle of hard whiskey was just about the opposite of a good idea. Shocking.

Sniper groaned, rubbing his head. He was getting tired of his memories in the infirmary being foggy. He was also getting tired of running away from them. Sooner or later, they’d catch up to him. _Medic_ would catch up to him. He would have to deal with... with everything.

He didn’t want to think about it, but now that he’d started, it’d be difficult to stop. Being anxious over a situation did that to a person.

Why couldn’t he just remember everything that happened? Did the alcohol affect him so badly he’d gotten blackout drunk as opposed to regular drunk? Did it affect him so badly that Medic had needed to set him on the examination table for healing? What the hell was the doctor doing?

Sniper had woken up in the infirmary with a killer headache, though it had been muffled by the remnants of his dream, still latching on to his mind. The large Medi Gun hadn’t been turned on, which likely explained why he still had his headache. Most notably, Medic had not been present. The violin song coming out of his bedroom told Sniper where he was anyway.

There was no desire to disturb Medic while he was playing his instrument. Sniper supposed that was where his dream’s music had come from - from Medic’s violin. That did not explain everything else running amok in his tangled thoughts.

Sex.

Sniper rubbed his face, wet with the cold rain. Cold as the raindrops were as they struck him, they could not combat the gunman’s warm memories of Medic and him. Medic and his heated palms and words and tongue and...

“Why, doc?” he whispered into the night.

More intense than his sun-dappled dream of the forest and violin song were his memories of him and Medic. Every moment that Sniper had managed to preserve in his mind was charged with heat, with tension, with friction.

And yet he could not decide if it had all really happened.

He wasn’t sure if he wanted the memories to be real or not. Patches of them were missing, but he had enough pieces to put together most of the puzzle. The alcohol’s haze was what he assumed was giving him doubt... He wondered if he asked the Medic, would he fill in the blanks?

Sniper grabbed a handful of pine to push a branch out of his way more forcefully than needed. Droplets scattered and needles stuck to his glove. He shook them off.

He did not want to ask the Medic to fill in the blanks for him. Despite their pleasant interactions, including the one earlier in battle, _especially_ the one earlier in battle, fear lingered in him. Talking to people was always a goddamn risk.

Sniper pushed through the trees bordering the forest and emerged damper than he’d entered.

Medic was such an unpredictable and sporadic individual. He was powerful and he was violent and he was bloody terrifying.

The Sniper’s heart rate quickened.

He’d never turned down a challenge because of the high risk factor; he thrilled in the hunt. The more dangerous, the better. It kept him on his toes. It kept him alive.

Though he did not see Medic as some sort of challenge to overcome, there was a part of him that did treat the German like a dangerous wild animal. A quick and intelligent one that could strike at any moment.

Sniper’s neck wound throbbed. The bandage wrapped around it had been done neatly, and he’d had no desire to remove it just to inspect his source of pain. His spotty memories had already told him enough about how he’d gotten the wound.

Were Medic’s teeth actually that sharp? Or did he just bite that hard?

Sniper clutched the door handle of his van. He struggled to jam the wet keys into the wet keyhole and turn the damn thing.

_Click._

With a deep breath, he opened the door and entered his camper van. Waves of relief washed over him. He loved the outdoors and he relied on it, but he also appreciated being out of the rain. It was a jarring transition to be dry all of a sudden.

Sniper threw his hat off and stripped as fast as he could. He needed a hot shower after having just come out of a cold one.

He glanced at his clock, set on a shelf on the wall. It was a quarter past midnight. The end of the damn work week could not come fast enough.

_Knock, knock._

The marksman cursed to himself. Who was bothering him past twelve in the morning? His van was always parked far enough from base to deter anyone who wanted to visit him when it was late and, of course, raining.

So there could only be one person behind the door. It didn’t mean Sniper had to let him in just yet, though.

“Give me a second!” he yelled.

“Just hurry up. It is raining out here and I’m sure you understand my appreciation of the rain,” Spy replied.

Sniper shoved his showering necessities onto his bed.

“Hey- oh,” he greeted, stopping himself mid-sentence when he spotted Spy’s company.

The Demoman was wearing a cloak over an outfit that was certainly not his uniform. He had a tunic of sorts, belted, over dark pants and boots. Over the clothing was a tartan-patterned sash.

Spy was in a vest and dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, which was about as casual as his own outfits got. He looked calm and collected. The Scotsman, however, did not. He looked a little thoughtful, but serious.

"Did you have a good walk, Robin?" Spy asked. His tone was casual, conversational.

"Yeah," Sniper replied, resisting the urge to smack his friend for using his name.

"Ach, Spy..." Demo began. He sounded like he was about to issue a warning.

Spy raised a hand just slightly. "I just wanted to talk."

"With Demo here too? Are you about to kidnap me? I didn't do anythin', alright? You both look ready to hit me."

Demoman frowned, looking down at his outfit. "That scary, lad?"

"Your cloak is creepy," Sniper grumbled. "And Spy isn't in a coat."

"My raincoat is in your room."

"...Oh. Sorry, mate."

Demo grunted. "I need the cloak," he said before pausing to look at Spy. "How much does he know?"

Spy shrugged. "Enough."

“Sorry for interruptin’ ye so late in the night,” he said.

“It’s fine,” Sniper muttered. His stiff posture made it clear that it was not fine, and he seemed to be contemplating fight or flight.

Spy waltzed right in. He sat down on one of the booth seats in front of the ‘kitchen’ table. So Demo followed.

With the two of them seated and not wielding any of their weapons, Sniper managed to relax. Just a bit.

“What’d you come here for?” he asked.

Spy and Demoman exchanged a look across the table.

“To talk,” Spy replied carefully.

Sniper narrowed his eyes. They made eye contact. Sniper was very sure that if his friend wanted to talk to him, he’d do it alone. He would not have brought Demoman, whom the marksman was quite sure Spy hardly even spoke to. Because Spy tended to avoid the louder mercs. There was always a reason behind his choices, which Spy often poured a great deal of thought into before making them.

Without a doubt, he brought the demolitions expert with him for a reason... Or was Spy accompanying him? Sniper tensed at the thought. The Demoman was a good friend of Sniper, but not so good that he’d come knocking - with Spy - so late at night.

The ulterior motive behind their visit had to involve the Medic. There was no other possibility.

“Okay,” Sniper said, still standing and still looking uncomfortable.

“Robin,” Spy said, voice soft. He looked down at his gloved hands, clenched, sitting on the table. “I- we’re worried about you.”

Sniper ran a hand through his hair. He was not about to have this conversation at such a horrid and awkward time, but he’d have to deal with this. The shower he wanted was still in his head. But he needed to deal with this.

Right now.

“Not this again, Jackie,” he groaned.

Spy’s tone sharpened. “Listen to me,” he said. “You haven’t been yourself lately - let me finish - and if you think nobody has noticed, you need to rethink that.”

Sniper frowned. He really didn’t think he’d been acting much different from normal, whether in or out of battle. Was Spy pulling his leg or just exaggerating?

“...Are you alright?”

Probably the latter.

“Robin?”

The air was stifling.

“Robin, are you listening to me?”

He needed...

“Robin!”

Sniper blinked a few times, startled. “Can I go shower, mate?”

Spy pursed his lips. The silence was deafening.

“Go,” he said, dropping his gaze from his friend and sinking into the seat.

Sniper decided to trust that neither Spy nor Demo would blow up his van while he was gone. He bundled up his things in the towel, which he then dumped into a plastic bag, and shoved his shoes on. It was raining hard, but running allowed Sniper the comfort of the indoors again quite soon.

In the living room, a few of the other REDs had fallen asleep. It wasn’t uncommon for somebody to pass out in a random room in base, but it was rare that several people would pass out in a random room in base. The coffee table was littered with empty and half-full bottles of alcohol, poker chips, and cards. Scout was splayed on the floor, Engineer and Pyro took up the couch, and it seemed Heavy had been present at one point, since a Russian novel was sitting on one of the armchairs.

Sniper walked past as quietly as he could manage in his hastily put on shoes. He didn’t want to wake anyone, especially not Scout or Pyro, as the two were notoriously light sleepers. Thankfully, his presence went unnoticed, and he made it to the bathroom and showers with zero disturbance.

He picked a stall and tossed his clothes off. No reason to worry when they already needed a wash anyway.

The water was hotter than Sniper had expected. It reminded him never to underestimate the Engineer’s capabilities with fixing anything, including the showers. For months, the mercs just had to deal with cold water not unlike they had in the Badlands. But in the desert, cold showers weren’t so bad. Sniper was thankful for the hot water now. The heat allowed his mind to empty. He felt his neck bandage loosening but he didn’t unwrap it, even as the sting of hot water seeped into his wound.

He scrubbed himself gently, methodically, as his thought wandered elsewhere. He was no longer in the showers; he was back in the infirmary. He could almost, almost feel the Medic on him, making skin-to-skin contact, whispering dirty things in his ear in German and using his hips to encourage Sniper to keep going.

Oh, this was not a good time for a boner. He’d intended to make the shower quick.

Sniper closed his eyes and banished the thoughts. They could wait. Spy and Demoman, however, could not. The gunman wondered what they were talking about in his vans, likely in hushed tones even if they were alone. 

Maybe they were arguing. Maybe they weren’t talking at all, and just letting the quiet and the din of rainfall do the talking for them.

Sniper wondered why they were so worried about him. It had to do with Medic, didn’t it? The doctor had changed from a teammate whom he rarely interacted with to a vast array of threads intertwining themselves into the tapestry of his damn life. Sniper pounded his fist on the tiled shower wall. He’d much rather have Medic intertwined with him in his bed.

...Yet every time he thought of Medic, fear pierced his heart. He was starting to lose track of whether or not that fear, that adrenaline, was something he craved.

Sniper bit his lip, clawing the tiles. Yes, he could not deny himself; he craved the Medic and all the heat he brought and the adrenaline rush that came with him and his scary sharp teeth that had torn into Sniper’s neck.

The marksman ran a tongue over his teeth. He had bitten the Medic pretty hard, too. Was the doctor thinking about his own wound? Sniper could picture him running his fingers over the bite marks. Maybe they were still bleeding... That would set him off.

The thought of the Medic being undone by Sniper’s bite was enough to make him shut off the shower and dry himself as quickly as possible. It was by sheer luck that he did not trip on his way out.

Sniper pulled his clean clothes on, made a quick trip to the laundry room to drop off the dirty ones, and hurried back to his van, the plastic bag held over his head to shield himself from the damn rain.

“That was fast,” Demo commented as he entered, hair still dripping.

Sniper was wearing a white undershirt and slacks not unlike those of his uniform outfit. His aviators were crooked and he made no effort in fixing them. He’d dressed with haste and it was obvious, but neither Spy nor Demoman had a reason to care.

“Yeah,” Sniper said. He still refused to sit. It’d feel too much like an invitation, too much like he was fine with their uninvited presences.

“In any case, there’s something... in particular...” Spy said, struggling to get out exactly what he wanted to. It was rare that Spy was at a loss for words.

It had to be related to Medic. God, why didn’t he just spit it out? It was obvious and it was making Sniper antsy again.

“We came to talk to you-” Spy said, before cutting himself off abruptly.

“Yeah,” Sniper repeated, his throat feeling dry.

Spy inhaled and exhaled. Demoman looked sympathetic, but he didn’t speak.

“Well,” Spy said.

Sniper glanced out the window. It was still dark out. The light in his van reflected off of the raindrops outside. It was raining pretty hard, and it must’ve been colder out there than even in the van. It was already pretty cold in the van.

“You know, I warned you about... a few things,” Spy said.

“Mhm,” Sniper replied. His fingers clenched.

“And... I’m sorry, Robin. My warnings tend to be unprecedented.”

Sniper returned his gaze to his friend. Spy was getting off track. Sniper knew him very well; it was something he often did before playing mind games with his words.

“Okay,” Sniper said. He felt nauseous as his heart beat faster.

“But I only tell you things because I care about you a lot,” Spy continued. He made a face at the table, looking a bit confused, almost. He was hardly the first person that one would expect to make friends and care about people. The statement seemed to confuse Spy himself, too.

Sniper scratched the back of his head. His wet hair dripped water on his fingers. He watched the raindrops fall.

“You’re my best friend, Robin. I want you to be happy and I want you to be well.”

Sniper nodded slowly.

“...Are you listening?”

Sniper nodded again.

“Alright, well... Like I said, I’m worried.”

Sniper’s breath caught. He needed to get out. Faster than even Spy or Demo could react, he grabbed the door handle, threw the door open, and ran.

“Robin!” Spy yelled as he shoved off of the seat and got up.

Sniper did not know where he was going. He ran into several branches that sprayed him with water. His breathing grew ragged as he crashed through the forest.

“Please, oh merde, please, Aodhán, we have to get him,” Spy cried.

“Calm down,” Demo replied, getting up to join the Frenchman staring at the forest with an expression that was so desperate and raw it hurt to look at.

“Can’t you find him? Can’t you bring him back somehow? Oh god, where did he even run to?”

Demoman shot him a withering look. “Do you even understand what I’ve told ye?” he asked. “I’m not usin’ magic t’ find Sniper. Judgin’ by what you’ve told me, more magic would only make ‘im worse.”

Spy wrung his hands. “We have to do something,” he said, sounding strained.

Demo took a deep breath and nodded in agreement. He put his hood on, looking very ominous in the darkness.

“I’m going after him,” Spy whispered.

“Ach, Jackie, don’t be so rash!”

“I have to! This is my fault! I knew I shouldn’t have... agh. He’s not good with talking to people.”

“Aye, it’s easy to see that,” Demo replied with a shake of his head.

“What do we do?” Spy asked.

“We should tell the others, then we can all go look for ‘im.”

Spy’s eyes widened. Sniper could be anywhere in the damn bush by then. The forest was his element, not theirs. They’d stand no chance if he wanted to remain hidden. And Spy did not wish to leave the task of finding him up to the Administration. That would cause more problems than he was willing to deal with. More problems than he wanted his friend to deal with.

“Non,” he hissed, fierce and determined.

“Spy...”

But Spy had already run off into the forest, leaving a very exasperated and tired-looking Demoman behind.

The Scotsman sighed. He pulled his cloak aside to remove a staff from his belt. It was hard, sturdy wood, and etched with greenish symbols. The staff formed a gnarled, wooden paw-like structure at the very top. Most of the markings were concentrated in its palm but they made their way down the staff in a scattered gradation.

Demoman tapped it on the wet dirt a few times. Light shimmered through the symbols before surging out through the claws of the paw, forming a green little light ball that shone through the rain.

If he was going after Spy and Sniper, he wanted to be prepared. And if not completely prepared, he wanted at the very least to be able to see what was coming.

Spy had no innate sense of direction to help him out. But he was able to yell, louder than the pounding rain.

“Robin? Are you in here?”

He was cold and wet and utterly miserable. Had he a spare moment to think, a moment not filled with panic and worry, he would’ve felt regret. He would’ve felt bad for having made his friend run away.

“Robin?”

He was a sorry excuse for a best friend and he knew it.

“Robin? I’m sorry!”

Spy had never had good luck with making friends. It was nobody else’s fault but his own. These things just tended to happen to him.

“Robin, please...”

His voice was hoarse. He cleared his throat and readied himself to yell again, and would’ve, had he not almost tripped over a large rock. Wait...

“Robin!”

Spy had bumped into his friend. Literally.

“Mon dieu, are you alright?”

Sniper was clutching a tree with one hand and his chest with the other. He was breathing hard and he was a mess with pine needles sticking to him. Of course, Spy was likely faring just about as well as his friend; he’d too had crashed through the forest with minimal caution.

It was so dark that Spy was amazed he’d found his friend at all. He was overwhelmed with emotion and flung himself over the Sniper, hugging him hard.

“Je suis désolé, je suis vraiment désolé. S'il te plaît me pardonnes.”

Sniper managed to catch his breath. “Spook,” he began. “I don’t speak French.”

“I’m sorry,” Spy repeated. “I’m really sorry, please forgive me.”

“Are you... crying? Oh, bloody hell, please don’t cry. I didn’t mean to run off. Didn’t think you’d come after me.”

Spy removed himself from the Sniper. “You’re my best fucking friend, Robin. Did you think I was going to let you run away and suffer?”

“Um. Kind of.”

Spy hugged his friend again.

“You mean too much to me,” he said quietly. Had he not been talking right beside Sniper’s ear, his words would’ve been drowned by the rain.

“Thanks, you mean a lot to me too,” Sniper said, hugging back. Reconciliation felt good. “When we get back, I’ll talk,” he added, letting go of Spy.

“Quoi?” Spy asked. He was clearly astonished. Sniper guessed that he also looked surprised, but he couldn’t exactly see much in the night’s darkness. “You don’t have to,” Spy insisted. “When you’re ready, you can talk to me. What I did, bringing the Demoman, it was a bit rash. Too much.”

Sniper shook his head even if the gesture wouldn’t be seen. “I’m ready,” he promised. “I feel better, I can talk to you. Both of you. Really.”

“How do we get back?” Spy asked, realizing all of a sudden that he was lost.

“I can try to find the way back... I think I know where we are.”

“No need for that, lads.”

Spy and Sniper turned to see a dim green light from the trees. It was Demoman, wielding his glowing staff. He still had his cloak and hood on, which made him look like a bonafide mage from the storybooks. The eyepatch added a touch of spookiness. Or a lot of spookiness, because the staff’s light ball was reflecting off of Demo’s one good eye. Then again, maybe it was his eye itself that was glowing.

“Come, follow me. I wasn’t going t’ follow you in, but I didn’t want you two to get killed, either.”

“Do you know the way?” Spy asked.

Demo grinned. “Follow me,” he said, turning.

Sniper and Spy looked at each other. The marksman shrugged and so off they went.

The trio re-entered the forest. Spy gasped softly. The path was lit for them. Not completely, but there were enough glowing runes in the trees that Demo managed to lead them easily.

“You told me you weren’t going to use magic,” Spy said as he caught up to the Scotsman.

Demoman waved him off with his staff hand, which was amusing as the light ball’s little glowing trail zig-zagged in the air. “I dunnae want to hear that, Spy. This magic won’t harm anyone because I am not usin’ it on you.”

“And to find Sniper, you would’ve had to use magic on him?”

“Aye. It’s a tad more complicated than that, but aye,” Demo replied as he continued to follow the symbols.

Sniper looked back to see that the runes behind them flickered before disappearing. He shuddered and turned around again.

“Why couldn’t you just let me do it? You said that interpersonal relationships can have an effect on-”

“Spy, yer too young to channel that kind of magic.”

The Frenchman stopped. He looked absolutely indignant. Downright offended, even. Sniper nudged him forward, chuckling to himself. His friend had likely not been told he was ‘too young’ for anything in well over a decade at the very least. Of course, Demo was younger than Spy, but older, in a sense, as a magician.

“Fine,” Spy relented, sighing.

“I’m sure you’d do magic just fine, but you don’t practice... You only asked for enough help to perform one spell.”

“Just as well. One was all I needed. Medic told me I’d be fine at pursuing this, but I have no need to.”

Sniper’s full attention was subconsciously perked at the mention of the doctor.

Demoman grunted. “He’s too eager sometimes. I’d be more impressed if Pyro gave you their word.”

“Ah yes. Pyro,” Spy replied. “Very good with magic, right?”

“Aye. Pyro can do things that I cannae even learn. They come from a magic family like I do. Runs in their blood.”

Sniper was curious about the magic-related conversation, but he couldn’t bring himself to listen. As soon as Medic had been brought up, his thoughts started drifting to the German.

“Here we are, lads! Told ye I could do it,” Demo announced, pushing a branch out of the way to reveal the edge of the forest.

“Holy dooley,” Sniper murmured as the last of the runes faded into the darkness. In front of the three was the camper van, and in the distance, RED base. “‘S a lot more effective than what I’d do, usin’ landmarks to find my way in the dark.”

Demoman nodded, appreciating the compliment.

“Let’s go back inside. It’s still raining,” Sniper said, opening the door of the camper van.

Demo glanced at Spy. Spy gestured to the inside of the van. He entered, so Demoman followed. Their conversation for the night, he assumed, would continue.

“Are you sure?” Spy asked his friend quietly.

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

“Alright then.” Spy took a seat in the booth chair even though he was dripping wet. It would hardly matter; they were all dripping wet.

Demoman closed the door behind himself and took the seat beside Spy, so Sniper scooched on the opposite side. His fingers drummed on the table.

“So,” he said.

“So,” Spy repeated. He took a breath and closed his eyes. There was really no time to play with his words when it was so late at night. “We... we came to talk to you about the Medic.”

Sniper exhaled loudly. “I bloody knew it.”

“Now, Sniper...” Demo began.

“No, no. Just continue. I’ll do my best to answer, a’right?”

“What did he do to you?” Spy’s voice was a whisper, but a firm one.

“He healed my leg, mate. You know that. He used magic to heal me after we fell down the stairs.”

“Oh. Wait, is that it? I would think he did more than that, mon ami.”

Sniper looked down at his hands, now clenched together. “He also healed my back wound that I got in battle. Didn’t come to him during battle ‘cause he was already busy. Didn’t go through respawn before battle ended. So I had to come to him after.”

“And he used magic to heal that, too?”

Sniper’s voice was hoarse. “Yeah, he did.” He remembered how he’d been awake for the procedure. He remember how hot Medic’s hands had been on his back, against his skin, doing sinful, filthy things to him.

“And those are the only times he did anything to you.”

Sniper looked back up. Spy had a focused sort of expression, far too curious for the marksman’s comfort, and Demo’s expression was a contemplative one with his brow furrowed.

“Did... did you two do anything else?” Spy asked.

Sniper swallowed hard. “What do you mean?” he rasped, miraculously managing to stay calm even as he cleared his throat.

“You know what I mean.”

Sniper looked back down at his hands. Of course he knew. “We’ve, ah, talked. A lot. I guess.”

“Really?” Spy asked, raising an eyebrow.

Sniper shot him an angry glare. What did his friend expect him to admit in front of Demoman? He was only willing to say so much.

“Yeah. We’ve talked. And then there was the spell that you used on me, if you’re keepin’ track of magic.”

Spy would not allow the topic to change so easily. “It was a simple purging spell. Using magic to get traces of magic out of you is ironic, I know, but anything that was lingering in you is gone now. Any other effects will still be there, however. But either way, I practiced it many times over to ensure it would be safe. For you at least.” He moved on before Demo could comment on that. “I’m more concerned about the Medic.”

Sniper peered at Demoman, mentally begging for the Scot to help him out somehow. Demo shrugged a shoulder and made an expression of indifference. “He’s a good man and an even better friend, but he worries me.”

“You two just talked?” Spy asked. It reminded Sniper of when Scout had asked him if Jacques was indeed Spy’s first name. His voice had a hint of that mock-innocence in it. Sniper was too tired to be irritated.

“Doesn’t sound like the doc I know,” Demoman said with a laugh. Neither Spy nor Sniper knew what best friend inside joke or secret he was alluding to, but the words sent a shot of panic through Sniper.

“We didn’t fuck,” he blurted, startling both Spy and the Demoman. “I-I swear.”

“I believe you,” Spy replied.

“Look it’s late, you two should get going and get some rest,” Sniper said hurriedly.

Spy understood. He’d passed more boundaries than he’d intended to, and only hoped that what he and Demo had learned was enough.

“We’ll go,” Demoman said.

“Good night, Robin,” Spy added.

Sniper nodded wordlessly, shooing them out of his van in a way he hoped was not too impolite. When they were both gone and the door was locked, he threw himself onto his bed. Bloody hell. That had been exhausting. He forced himself to look up at the clock. It was ten to two and he was soaking wet.

Sniper stripped, piled his clothes on the floor, and crawled back into bed. He was tired and not in the mood to shower again. Maybe in the morning, maybe after battle. But not now. Now wasn’t the time. He could hardly keep his eyes open. After a pitiful attempt at brushing the worst of the pine needles and mud from himself, he pulled the blanket over himself and closed his eyes.

 

“Good night, Spy,” Demoman said as he and the Frenchman went their separate ways. Spy had paused in front of Sniper’s room, considering going in there to sleep instead just because he could, but he went for his own door instead.

“Don’t stay up too late,” Spy replied, turning to make eye contact with the Demoman in front of his own door. “I hope this conversation was worth the effort it required.”

Demo pulled the hood of the cloak off of his head. He looked somber. “I hope so, too,” he said.

Wordlessly, the Spy went on his way. Demoman lingered. Though his steps were heavy, Spy seemed otherwise fine. Just tired. His form disappearing up into his room was a bit eerie, lit up by the nightlights.

Demoman had helped out with those himself. A handful of the other mercs would’ve preferred having the base lit up at all times. Demo, Medic, Spy, and Engineer were night wanderers. Demo and Medic in particular preferred the dark because it helped with magic rituals. Spy preferred the dark in general.

Normally, the nightlights would only be used in the event of a power failure during the night or a storm; the lights were hooked up to a generator in the basement. A month after the teams came to Nightfall, the 24/7 lighting was reconsidered. Sniper had sided with his friend, which allowed a majority vote to pass.

Demo was grateful for the darkness now. He knew he could be tracked in or out of base, of course, but he didn’t want to be detected by any of his teammates on the off chance they were awake. They could be very, very nosey. He didn’t want that. He was fairly sure that Spy wasn’t about to come back out, and so he headed back downstairs on his own.

The door to the infirmary was unlocked, which wasn’t surprising. Medic was often left alone when it was this late. Unless someone had hurt themselves on the way to the washroom.

Demoman entered quietly, just in case his friend was actually asleep. It was rare, though not unheard of. The desk lamp was on, and Medic was at his post, reading something. Demo thought it was a spellbook at first, but the pristine white pages meant it was probably an academic textbook.

“Guten abend, Aodhán,” the doctor greeted.

“Evenin’, doc,” Demo replied, pulling a chair up to the table.

“You’re wet.”

“So I am. Aren’t you a cannie lad?”

Medic rolled his eyes at the slang term. “Where have you been?”

“Havin’ a bevvy.”

“Ach mein gott, Ao... You know I can’t keep all these words straight.”

Demoman laughed. “Havin’ a drink.”

The Medic raised an eyebrow. “You look completely sober, you don’t smell like alcohol, and you aren’t holding a bottle. Don’t lie to me.”

Demo looked down at the textbook. There was an unnecessarily detailed diagram of a human brain on one page. “Aye, that’s right. I came here to talk.”

Medic raised an eyebrow. He bookmarked his page with a sheet of paper he’d taken notes on, and closed the textbook.

“Then by all means, talk to me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \\\ I need more magic in hat game fics because magic is fun times and it's canon in TF2verse and everything. I just really love magic.


	6. Über

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are a bunch of references to the game (e.g., cosmetics, specific map details) in this chapter. I literally booted up TF2, started a server with myself, and opened Nightfall to help me visualize. I miss it; I don't play it as often nowadays.
> 
> It was one of the maps I played Spy best on. If you haven't played Nightfall yet, you should. Payload Race is really fun! //

The rain was still coming down, but it was light rain. Sniper decided that a drizzle was something he could deal with as he watched it through his bedroom window. Sadly for his comfort, it was chilly, though not enough for him to pull on a _coat._ But... something with a hood, maybe.

While Sniper was searching his closet for the Anger, Spy approached him. Of course he just strode into Sniper’s locked bedroom. In complete silence.

“Are you doing alright?” he asked quietly.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Sniper said, grabbing the cosmetic. “How’d you get in here?”

Spy laughed at that. He walked up to Sniper’s side and held out his hand. He pulled his kid glove up a bit to reveal a bobby pin.

“Combined with one of my smaller blades, I have the arsenal for a lockpick right on my person.”

“S'pose so, but you’re still too damn quiet for me to hear.”

The Frenchman rolled his eyes. “You must be getting old,” he said with a grin.

Sniper whacked him with the hooded shirt.

“Don’t be rude,” he huffed. “Hold my hat and glasses.”

Spy took the items from his friend, who pulled his shirt off to don the Anger.

“No vest?” Spy asked.

“I think I’ll wear a jacket instead,” Sniper replied, removing a hanger from the closet. On it was the Chronomancer, one of his jackets. The marksman thought of it as his regular uniform vest but with sleeves and thus it helped keep him warm. The material wasn’t the best to repel water, but it would do.

“Let’s get going. The others have already started eating,” Spy said, giving Sniper his hat and glasses back.

“There’s always plenty to go ‘round, mate,” Sniper said, putting on the hat and glasses.

“The leftovers our team leaves... That food is never fit to eat.”

Sniper snorted, but he agreed, “You’ve got a point.” He grabbed the bandana that went with his Anger, stuffed it in his pocket, and followed Spy downstairs to the dining area.

Pyro was the only one at the table, sitting in a middle seat. They seemed content with the lack of company anyway, and they were eating peacefully with their mask half-up. Scout was leaning against the doorway. Sniper noticed that Medic was absent and he was shocked at the sudden pang of disappointment he felt.

“G’mornin’ Spy, g’mornin’ Snipes!” Scout greeted with his mouth full. He was holding a plate of pancakes, loaded with syrup and butter, with bacon on the side.

“Swallow,” Spy told him with a frown. The Frenchman was always one for good table manners, which was exactly why he did not eat with the rest of the team.

Scout looked sheepish as he downed his mouthful of pancakes. “Sorry,” he mended. “Soldier practically dragged Truckie outta his room to help with breakfast. It’s pretty good!”

“Americans,” Spy sighed. “‘Good’ is a bit much to hope for.”

Sniper punched his friend’s arm. “You’re bein’ overdramatic. Show some appreciation for ‘em.”

“I will be appreciative when I get to eat.”

“You can have the rest of mine if you want, Spy. Demo and Heavy are kinda fighting for the best pancake,” Scout offered.

“No, thank you... Wait, the best _pancake?”_ Spy asked, aghast.

“Ohoh, man,” Scout laughed. “There’s a really good pancake that Truckie made. I saw it myself. It’s like, holy _shit,_ it’s perfect! I’ve never seen a better pancake! C’mon, I’ll show you!”

Spy grimaced, but Sniper patted his shoulder and followed the Bostonian into the kitchen. True to his word, there did indeed seem to be some sort of argument going on between the Demoman and the Heavy. They were shouting at each other, which was a comical fight.

“Yo, Truckie!” Scout called.

“Yeah?” Engineer asked, even as he was watching Demo and Heavy with an expression of horror. Soldier was at his side, tending to the stove and focused on frying up some more bacon. He seemed to not even notice the ruckus behind him.

“I wanna show Spy and Snipes the pancake you made! ‘Cause I mean, it was pretty freakin’ great.”

“It’s... it’s on the counter beside ‘em. Don’t get too close or one of ‘em might whack you,” Engineer replied.

Scout trotted over beside Engineer to see the plate sitting on the counter. Both Demo and Heavy had a hand beside it, ready to grab. Their other hands were occupied with making air gestures.

“This pancake is _mine!”_ Demo yelled.

_“Nyet!”_

Spy joined Scout at his side, but Sniper was reluctant to even get near the fray. He was in awe that a single pancake could inspire such an argument.

“Have they been like this all mornin’?” he asked.

“Well, sorta,” Scout said. “They both came into the dining room at the same time. Truckie and Soldier were cookin’ up some grub, yeah? Then Truckie puts _that_ pancake down on a plate, and he announces that he made this freakin’ _amazing_ pancake. I don’t blame ya, Truckie, I woulda told everyone, too.”

Engineer nodded in acknowledgement, though he was still watching Demo and Heavy squabble.

“Anyway, Demo kinda stumbles and he’s like, ‘aye boyo I’ll take that pancake’,” Scout continued, imitating the Scotsman’s voice. Spy looked amused. “But Heavy’s right behind him and he’s not cool with that at _all._ Then they started arguing! Pretty great, huh?”

“This is stupid,” Sniper sighed. “Is Demo drunk?”

“Yeah, and Heavy’s hungover from last night’s poker and drinking game.”

Sniper recalled the hint of Heavy’s presence in the living room last night. But Scout had been there, too.

“Aren’t _you_ hungover, too?” Sniper asked.

Scout leaned forward a bit and turned his head to peer at him even though Spy was standing between them.

“I mean, yeah, but I bugged the doc about it and he helped me out like he always does.”

"I... see," Sniper said. "Anyway, why don't they just split the pancake?"

"These brutes don't know how to share," Spy muttered. 

Scout elbowed the Frenchman. "Well _I_ do, so just have the rest of my food before you starve. You're so skinny."

"See!" Sniper exclaimed. "Even Scout's callin' you skinny. You really gotta eat."

Spy made a face at him. "Fine. Give me the one with minimal condiments on top, if you'd be so kind, Scout."

Scout nodded dutifully and began digging out a pancake in the middle of his stack.

"You do that. I'm gonna go, uh, check on the doc," Sniper said, inching away.

Spy raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

"Be careful, man. He's kinda in a mood," Scout warned.

"I'll do that," Sniper replied. He was puzzled; hadn't Medic given the runner something for his hangover? When he was upset he tended to relish the pain from even his own teammates. He seemed to enjoy the pleading to unlock the cabinet of painkillers.

Oh well.

With long strides, he arrived at the infirmary a minute later. The gunman took deep breaths outside the door before knocking. Just to be polite, of course, as he knew the door was almost always unlocked if not open.

"Come in," Medic called. He had the Kritzkrieg out on his examination table and was hunched over, adjusting or recalibrating it, maybe.

His back was to the Sniper, who felt like running away and bending him over the table simultaneously. He swallowed hard. Medic looked over his shoulder and appeared to be surprised.

"Ah, it's you," he commented, his tone mild and quite contrary to the expression he'd held for a moment. No more surprise was on his visage as he turned around.

“Yeah, uh... yeah.” Sniper cursed at himself inwardly.

 _Did I really just say that?_ he thought.

“What do you need?” Medic asked.

Sniper squinted at him. The doctor was calm. Suspiciously so. Although the marksman knew he had an excellent poker face - something he’d learned from both actual poker games and moments of peril in which Medic maintained his calm - he was still ready to be fooled by it. But... no. Hadn’t Scout specifically warned him about Medic being ‘in a mood’? He certainly did not look like he was in a bad mood.

“What do _you_ need?” Sniper challenged. As soon as the badly phrased words came out of his mouth he regretted it.

Medic blinked a few times, studied him not unlike the time he’d caught Sniper wandering base at five in the morning.

“Pardon me?” the doctor asked. He seemed to be trying to determine whether or not Sniper was making a bad joke.

He did his best to backtrack. “I... I meant... I heard you weren’t feeling well, yeah? Scout told me not to bother you ‘cause you’re in a mood. Also, I came here ‘cause it’s breakfast time and you’re not eatin’.”

“Is that all? Herr Sniper, you should know that I prefer not to eat with the team.”

“Yeah I know, but doc, I think at least _one_ person would’ve told me if you already grabbed a bite. So don’t give me excuses, ‘cause I can see that you don’t exactly have anything in your mouth right now.”

Medic’s eyes were wide, shocked at his wording and unintentional innuendo. Sniper didn’t notice; he wasn’t finished quite yet.

“You’re the most important member of our team, you know that, right? It’s already bad enough for you that you don’t sleep. You should at least _eat_ somethin’ while you can.”

Medic was quiet for a bit. “Danke, Sniper,” he said. “That means a lot, that you care.”

 _About me,_ he added to himself. _It means a lot that you care about me._

Sniper nodded tersely. “Just come and eat, aw’right?”

The doctor touched his arm, but his movement was tentative and he retreated his hand as soon as he felt it would be appropriate. Sniper didn’t want him to let go, though, and took his wrist.

“Listen, I-”

Medic shook his head and took his hand back. “I will join you in a bit. By the looks of it, you have not eaten, either.”

Sniper was taken aback by Medic’s reaction and he was also hesitant to go. Through his aviators, the effectiveness of making eye contact was halved, but still Medic’s gaze was piercing. It always was. And right now, Sniper thought he looked almost scared.

“Gehen,” Medic said, shooing him away.

Medic had so little to fear, was he really scared?

“Raus, raus!”

Sniper frowned as he accepted being pushed out of the infirmary simply because he couldn’t exactly say no.

“See you later.”

The door shut behind him and he decided he was sure Medic _was_ scared. That begged the question: why? When Sniper encountered Spy again in the dining room, he resisted the urge to ask why.

It didn’t occur to him until he was in the middle of a conversation with his friend, about something insignificant, that maybe Spy and Demoman’s little ‘chat’ with the Sniper related to the Medic for a reason. A good enough reason to make the Medic fear the consequences of his actions, something he very rarely did.

 

The rain was nigh absent by the time the battle had begun with its customary countdown. For once, Scout wasn’t forcing his way through the crowd of other mercs to be the first out the gate. Under the sunshine, he made himself a rallying point for his teammates with his shouts. He’d be of more help if he wasn’t that loud, in Sniper’s opinion. Being too loud would just give everything away, after all.

The runner was hopping around the cart as Demoman and Pyro pushed it. Sniper, in spawn, tied the Anger’s bandana over his face and swapped his regular rifle for his Hitman’s Heatmaker while he had the chance. He decided to hang back for a bit to see if any of the BLUs dared overextend. Sometimes they did, and they made easy targets.

“Hey doc, I think I see the BLU Scout! Can you give me an overheal? Thanks!” Scout yelled before running off.

“He is going to get himself killed,” Medic sighed, refocusing his Medi Gun on the Heavy, who nodded in agreement.

“Are you going to move or just stand here all day?”

Sniper turned to see Spy uncloak beside him.

“How are _you_ helping?” the marksman grumbled.

Spy smiled, raising his left hand to show his friend the bloody knife he was holding.

“Already?” Sniper asked, impressed.

“Oui. First kill of the day, I believe. My opposite, just now, was rather off his game. So to speak.”

Sniper slung his rifle over his shoulder as he laughed. “You spend too much time talkin’ to Scout.”

Spy rolled his eyes. “I take offence to that.”

Sniper cocked his head and asked, “You plannin’ to replace me with that li’l ankle-biter?”

Spy elbowed him. “I could never replace you, mon ami. As much as I’d _like_ to at some times, even the ‘ankle-biter’ cannot live up to how much of a bastard you can be.”

“Go do Spy things you bloody spook.”

“Yes, yes, of course. Good luck and see you later,” Spy replied as he cloaked.

 _See you later._ That was what the Medic had said. Sniper wondered if he’d said that to be polite or if he meant something more despite how odd the visit to the infirmary had been.

It was probably better not to dwell on it.

Judging by the commotion - which was louder than usual - both carts were being pushed. A loud series of explosions followed by proud laughter told Sniper that one of the Demomen had just blown up a stickytrap, catching several enemies in it. A quick look ahead also told him that it had been the BLU Demoman, so the BLUs would be catching up soon.

A familiar loud creak was the sign Sniper got that meant the BLU cart had been pushed all the way to the intersecting rail section in the middle of the map. Goddammit. His team had two jobs and there were nine of them to do it. Push the cart and defend, with Sniper being on defense most of the time, like now.

Sniper made his way to the slope where the RED rail went up, and he sidled up to the wall beside the bomb’s starting point. The wooden planks were dry and he was grateful for that. If he scooched up a little he’d have a decent view of the fray right in front of him.

The BLU Pyro and Medic were pushing the cart, and it seemed their Demoman was coming to join them.

Sniper decided to take him down first considering how well he was already fighting. That just wouldn’t do. He pulled his rifle off his shoulder, lifted it, readied, aimed and... Crap. The Demoman spotted him and was hefting his Grenade Launcher to pop out pipes.

One had scarcely flown out of the barrel when the RED Scout lept out from where the doorway was to Demo’s left. The runner was an entertaining sight as he hopped onto a barrel, raised his frying pan, yelled, and jumped over Demoman’s head.

Sniper fired and missed; the Demoman had turned just in time so as not to have his head bashed in. Scout taunted him, tossing the pan to the air in a wide arc over the large rock beside the two. The Demo barked at him in frustration, aiming his Grenade Launcher and missing his pipes. Scout circled around the rock and caught his pan before it hit the ground. Then he ducked back past the barrels and raced towards BLU spawn area, Demo hot on his heels.

It astounded Sniper that the BLU Pyro and Medic had yet to notice him despite the fact he’d taken a shot. His rifle was loud, after all - oh _shit._

The BLU Medic shouted something that Sniper did not quite catch. It was hard to notice thanks to the needles sinking into his left arm, sending stabbing pains through his flesh. The Pyro cocked their head but did not follow the doctor. Why, Sniper was not sure. He _was_ sure that it didn’t matter very much because it felt like his arm had acid running through its veins.

“Bloody fucking Christ!” he hissed, backing up.

The BLU continued to pursue him. Even as his first cartridge as needles was spent, he made short work of stripping the gun and reloading it.

Sniper growled, trying to make an unscoped shot with his right arm holding the rifle. He missed by at least a foot and the recoil was not pleasant. He took a quick look over his shoulder, relieved to see that spawn wasn’t too far behind him. Not close enough.

“Fight me, _sie Stück Scheiße!”_ the Medic challenged.

Sniper was reminded once again that he did not speak German, but he’d heard _‘Scheiße’_ enough times from both scary doctors that he understood he was being insulted. It didn’t faze him; the needles sticking out of him did.

Sniper had seen, many times over, that those who were dying did some pretty stupid things out of desperation. Himself not excepted.

It was a very hopeless try at getting help, but hundreds of battles had carved in him the instinct to call out when he required assistance. Now was a definite qualifier for a situation in which he needed at the least, a bit of assistance.

 _”Medic!”_ he shouted.

The BLU laughed at that. Sniper’s skin crawled. He managed to deflect a barrage of needles with his gun.

“Run away then, kleiner Feigling,” the Medic crooned. His smile showed a flash of teeth - slightly crooked.

A wail came from somewhere up ahead.

The BLU’s teeth had blood in between them.

Sniper turned and ran back into respawn room, shaking and gasping for breath. He dropped his rifle none too gracefully before collapsing and dragging himself to the resupply cabinet.

It was a solid three minutes before he was standing again, fully healed and ready to go back outside. The Medic was aware he’d overextended and thus taken a huge risk in going after Sniper; there was no sign of him out the door.

Neither carts had gotten much further. The fighting had grown intense and Sniper could still feel his heart pounding from the encounter with the Medic. Adrenaline was coursing through him. Coupled with the nausea it was a lot to handle.

Just another day at work.

Sniper jogged back up to the post he’d taken before, beside the payload’s starting location. He was more careful looking out this time, though. Another scream sounded from ahead and Sniper shivered. He was familiar with just about everyone’s cries of pain and it had to be one of the Scouts. Which one, he couldn’t tell. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

The BLU Heavy made the fatal mistake of crossing Sniper’s scope. One charged shot and he was down, quick and neat.

The breeze shifted and the hairs on the back of Sniper’s neck rose. He whipped around but nobody was there. Not even a few passes through the air with his kukri revealed a cloaked Spy. Maybe he was looking in the wrong place? Sniper turned back around, rifle lowered, scanning the area around him.

Over the light rain there was a faint scuffle in the dirt. Drops of blood accumulated in the mud and Sniper’s eyes widened as Spy - the RED Spy - uncloaked in front of the Sniper.

“Christ, mate! You almost gave me a bloody heart attack!” Sniper exclaimed. Wait, was this the BLU Spy in disguise or-

“Spare me the details, Robin,” Spy groaned.

It was the RED Spy.

“Just... _ugh_ , help me.” He had an arm over his stomach and when he pulled it away to grab Sniper’s arm for support, the marksman made a sharp inhalation. There was a deep gash cut across Spy’s abdominal region, and it was peppered with bullets for good measure. The blood was an evil shade of crimson against Spy’s pinstripe suit.

“It was me,” Spy said.

“What?” Sniper asked, throwing the rifle over his shoulder and wrapping his arm around Spy’s waist to keep him upright.

“The Pyro. I saw the Medic chasing you, and I believe the Pyro was about to follow. I was lucky enough to lead them around the corner and make a quick stab, but not before they got me with their axe.”

That didn't explain the bullet wounds, but whatever. “Less talk, just get movin’. Thanks, though.”

Spy nodded a bit, though it was clear he was in immense pain as he forced himself towards respawn.

“Oh freakin’ god!”

Scout very nearly crashed into the pair struggling to walk, which would’ve resulted in an unfortunate recreation of the falling-down-the-stairs scene from before. He skidded to a halt behind Spy.

Sniper turned his head, not without some difficulty, and gawked.

“What the hell happened to you, mate?!” he asked.

Scout pursed his lips as he tried to think of a fitting response. There wasn’t much to say; one of his arms had been cut or blown off. The remaining bit of limb was wrapped with a bandage that had already been soaked through with blood. Scout just lifted his left hand, which was bare and bandage-less.

“Soldier tried to fix it,” he said, which was not the explanation Sniper had been asking for. “...Is Spy okay?”

Sniper rolled his eyes, irritated but amazed at the runner’s overall valour.

"Oui, I’m fine,” Spy groaned.

“He’s not,” Sniper said.

Scout was hopping from foot to foot the way he tended to do when he was agitated or really needed to piss. “Look, I’ll take him back to respawn. I’m kinda on the way there anyway. _You’re_ all in one piece, and we could use you up front. Like, really bad! Heavy was taken down, in front of BLU spawn, and I think Demo and Medic are there, but they need help. Right now. Last I saw, The BLU Sniper _and_ Spy were there. And uh, they’re prob’ly gonna aim for Demo first ‘cause he’s dominating both of ‘em, yeah?”

Sniper grimaced and asked, “Why couldn’t you take care of it?” The question was purely rhetorical as he passed Spy over to Scout’s one-armed grip.

Scout shot the gunman a smirk nonetheless. He waved his bloody arm stump. “I’m right-handed and I need two hands to use my Scattergun, Snipes. Can’t take down a Heavy without it, y’know? Move your ass!”

“Alright, alright,” Sniper grunted. He ensured that Scout had Spy firmly held before running for the front lines. Fighting at the front was never his forté; he was a fucking Sniper, after all.

No BLUs accosted him on the way there. He guessed they were a bit busy defending and cleaning up his teammates.

Sniper chose the left passage which led to a little ‘room’ with a window overlooking the BLU area. The scene in front of him was not pretty. The RED payload was maybe three metres from its destination, and Medic was standing in front of it, guarding it. He was clearly bleeding. Demo was right beside him, popping out stickies and reloading as fast as he could with one of his arms having been gored. They were both low on health, even with the cart to their back healing them.

Sniper spotted his opposite across the way, on the ledge outside one of the spawn entrances. He aimed and his stomach dropped as he heard the dreaded noise of the Dead Ringer uncloak. Not behind him. It was in front of him. Before he could even fire at the BLU Sniper - who’d yet to see him - he lowered his rifle and looked down to see Demoman get stabbed.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Sniper hissed.

He made haste and activated his Hitman’s Heatmaker. A tingle rushed through his gun and then through his body. It crackled in his hands, smelling of ozone. He headshot his opposite. The BLU Soldier had just come out of spawn, on the same ledge his teammate was _just_ shot, and Sniper made quick work of him. It was satisfying seeing his corpse fall on top of the BLU Sniper’s.

Then the BLU Engineer, with large toolbox in his hands. He might’ve tripped over his teammates’ corpses had Sniper not taken care of him too.

But the marksman’s job wasn’t quite done yet. The BLU Heavy emerged from the lower spawn door, his minigun already revving up.

Medic didn’t notice; the BLU Spy’s attempt at backstabbing him had gone awry and the doctor had pulled him down and had him pressed to the dirt. His bonesaw shone red in what little sunlight there was, and before long it was cutting into the enemy Spy’s guts.

Sniper winced; that was the same place his own friend had been injured. Still, there was no time to mourn. Medic’s head turned and he paled at the sound of the minigun. Sniper figured he had at least a bit more time before any of the BLUs - if any of them were present and alive - noticed him. So he readied and aimed. His hands were shakier than Scout with five cans of Bonk! in him.

 _Pew._

“Ah, shit pissing hell.”

He’d missed and both Medic and the BLU Heavy’s heads turned to him. Well this was inevitable anyway; the Heatmaker’s activated Focus allowed quick kills but it also fired tracer rounds. So it’d be hard not to notice the trail the bullet left as it embedded itself into the wooden wall beside BLU Heavy’s head.

With an angry growl, the minigun’s bullets were fired into the window. Sniper could’ve backed up but goddamn it all, he would _not_ waste his charged Focus meter. So naturally, he jumped out the window, taking a few bullets in the meantime that might’ve hurt more had he not landed beside the cart that dispensed health.

The Heavy seemed thrown off by his course of action and had to take a long moment to readjust the direction the minigun barrel was pointing.

“Sniper, what the fuck?” Medic asked. He sounded horrified but oddly ecstatic, and Sniper wasn’t sure how to respond. He just knew that it had been a long time since he’d felt this excited even in daily life-threatening battle. So he shrugged, smiled, and winked.

Medic grabbed his Medi Gun resting on the ground and pointed it at Sniper.

“Almost charged. I was going to use it on the Demoman, but...” Medic frowned at the dead body beside him.

Sniper nodded in understanding. He gripped his gun tightly. It was still crackling and tingling and filling him with energy. Bullets ricocheted against the bomb cart. The Heavy was moving around and he’d be on them in an instant, so Sniper got up, the scope already pressed against his aviators.

The BLU Heavy looked a bit startled to see him standing again so quickly, but he wasn’t exactly going to back down, even with a rifle pointed to his head.

Medic pulled the Medi Gun handle back and pressed the machine to his hip with one hand, then lifted himself off the ground with the other. He shook his head a bit and held onto the Medi Gun with renewed strength now that he had a new meat shield.

“I am fully charged!” he called, sliding himself between Sniper and the bomb cart so he could push it.

At that, the Heavy looked like he was having second thoughts.

“Hit it!” Sniper yelled back.

Medic laughed maniacally in a manner that Sniper would’ve likened to his counterpart’s had he not been a bit occupied with being scoped in. With a liberal flick of a switch, invulnerability from the Medi Gun rushed over them.

_“Über the FUCKING Sniper!”_

Not a second too late; Sniper wasn’t the best pincushion for bullets even with the Medic trained on him. The creak of the cart’s wheels, the laughter of the Medic, the steady, loud purr of the minigun, the angry curses from the Heavy, the rain - all of it melded into a cacophony that did not pierce Sniper’s ears.

He inhaled and exhaled steadily before gracing the trigger with the press of his finger.

“Boom. Headshot,” he said, grinning as he felled the Heavy for the second time in the battle.

Medic was still backing the cart up. “Hurry,” he commanded. “We don’t have much time left before the others respawn.”

Sniper nodded and threw himself against the cart with a grunt of effort. It hurt and would likely bruise but he didn’t care. Medic threw his Medi Gun down and pushed harder.

Before the payload detonated, he grabbed Sniper’s hand and squeezed it.

 

“So what happened to the pancake?” Scout asked before rubbing his hair with his towel.

The battles was over, thank goodness. It had been a long one, but at least the rain hadn’t gotten worse throughout the day. The REDs had won and thus Scout was in a conversational mood. Sniper lamented the absence of Spy - not uncommon when it was shower time - because he was the target of conversation.

“I don’t know,” Sniper replied, adjusting his own towel around his waist. He wiped his aviators against it carefully before setting them back on his face. The steam fogged them up again quickly.

“Damn it,” Scout grumbled. “I’m gonna go ask Truckie. Did Spy tell ya he ate all my damn pancakes? I didn’t have time to watch Demo and Heavy finish their argument ‘cause I was busy grabbing more food.”

“It’s a good thing Spy’s eating,” Sniper commented.

“Yeah! Okay but seriously, I’ll catch ya later, Snipes!” Scout said with a little wave as he exited the showers.

Sniper watched him go, towel around his neck and wearing no more than damp knee socks and boxers. His clothes were in his arms but evidently the fate of the pancake was a more pressing issue than getting dressed.

“To each their own.”

Sniper turned to see Spy who was clean and neatly groomed.

“Were you watchin’ that whole conversation?” Sniper asked.

“There is not a single conversation that goes on in this base that I do not catch,” the rogue deadpanned. He sounded so damn serious that Sniper tensed up, thinking about himself and Medic.

Spy relaxed and snickered. “I’m _kidding,_ my goodness. I’m sorry, I did not think you’d react in such a... severe manner.”

Sniper took his glasses off and shook his head like a dog, spraying water everywhere.

“Mon dieu! Robin, please!”

When Sniper looked back up and placed the aviators back on, he burst out laughing at the sight of Spy’s offended expression. He was doubled over laughing and Spy smacked his head in irritation before smoothing his gloved hands over his suit.

“Thank you for earlier,” he said.

“Ah, leavin’ you with Scout turned out to be a life-savin’ decision, after all?” Sniper asked, grinning.

Spy lifted a hand to flick his fingers at one of Sniper’s wet hair clumps. “He proved himself to be capable.”

“His arm heal okay?”

“Oui, the resupply cabinet should never be underestimated.”

Sniper nodded even though he was less focused on the gore from earlier and more focused on how Medic held his hand as the two won first round. It was rare the marksman helped out on objective, but every day had surprises in store.

Spy sighed and shook his head a little. “Now I am worried I did not check his arm thoroughly enough earlier. He wasn’t exactly shooting his best afterwards. Even though one could chalk that up to sheer chance that I didn’t catch him doing well when I was nearby, your comment has left me paranoid.”

“Sorry, mate, just wanted to know. He seems fine but you know how he hides injuries all the damn time.”

“Oui, the Medic has complained about that plenty.”

Sniper wanted to go check on Medic all of a sudden. He’d shaken off the horrible encounter with the BLU doctor earlier. At least, he was pretty sure he’d shaken it off. He shuddered at the thought of the enemy Medic’s bloody teeth.

“Let’s go check on him,” Sniper said quickly. Going to find Scout would take his mind off of Medic. Maybe.

“Alright,” Spy agreed. But then he looked his friend up and down. “Get dressed first.” He walked over to where Sniper had left his clothes and jacket just outside the showers, and came back to toss them over.

“Thanks, spook.”

 

The pair arrived at the door to Engineer’s workshop. “He said he was lookin’ for Truckie, so I guess he’d be here.”

Sniper was about to knock, but Spy just tried the knob - it turned - and opened the door.

“Bonjour,” Spy said.

Engineer was at his workbench, looking a bit surprised though not unhappy to see his new guests. There were blueprints sitting in a short stack on one side of the table, and some scrap metal on the other side.

Scout was also present, having taken one of the chairs. But as soon as he saw Spy and Sniper he literally jumped out of his seat.

“Pancake story!” Scout exclaimed, because that was all he really needed to explain. He grabbed their hands and half-dragged them over to the table.

Sniper was beginning to regret not having just gone to the infirmary to see Medic.

 _What’s done is done,_ he thought as he pulled a sawdusty stool up to the bench and sat down.

“Alright, should I start from the beginning? It’s not _that_ interestin’ a story, but since you’re all here...” Engineer said, looking amused to see the two resident loners being forced into hearing the pancake story thanks to Scout.

“Yes,” Scout replied, nodding fervently.

“Well y’all saw Demoman and Heavy squabblin’ earlier. What I reckon y’all didn’t see was what happened after.”

Scout was enraptured. Spy turned to Sniper, making eye contact and raising an eyebrow before returning his attention to Engineer.

“Now, Demoman was drunk. He’s drunk a lotta the time, but still - you’ve all seen what he’s done before when drunk.”

Everyone around the table could agree, without even stating it, that Demo did some _very_ reckless things when he was shitfaced.

“He punched Heavy in the face.”

Both of Scout’s fists pounded against the table and his jaw _dropped._

“No. Freakin’. Way,” he whispered, his voice brimming with shock and admiration.

Engineer nodded solemnly. “If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I would’nt’ve believed that Demo could knock Heavy out with one hit. Alright, he wasn’t knocked out, but he was a little jarred, enough so that Demo could swoop in, grab the plate, and scamper out.”

"Holy shit! Holy _shiiiiittt!”_ Scout laughed. “That explains why Heavy, like, _threw_ him back onto the cart when he stopped pushing it to chase the BLU Spy earlier!”

“Yep, reckon so,” Engineer replied. “He was refillin’ at my Dispenser at one point when Heavy came in, picked him up, and put him back on the cart.”

“The Heavy is always willing to cooperate for the sake of the team,” Spy commented, shaking his head ruefully.

“Yeah,” Sniper added, which wasn’t a helpful contribution to the conversation, but it was all he had to say. He could hardly picture Demoman punching Heavy in the face. Well, drunk Demo, maybe... But the scene would be even more impressive if he was in his magical attire and his eye was glowing. As great as that would be to watch, it just reminded Sniper of the conversation about Medic in his van.

God, everything just looped back around to the Medic these days, didn’t it?

The conversation continued without him as he spaced out thinking about the doctor’s odd behaviour and, of course, all the touches and words they’d shared over the past few days. How was it possible to know someone for so long and then to have such a breathtaking connection awaken in such a short span of time?

Sniper needed fresh air to clear his thoughts.

“I’m gonna head back to the van now. See you later,” he said even though Scout was in mid-sentence.

“Oh... well, alright!” he said.

“Come and eat with us, alright?” Engineer said.

Spy just watched him nod and reply, “Yeah, I’ll be there.”

Sniper pushed the already open door and shut it behind himself as Scout chattered on, flawlessly picking up the end of his sentence where he’d left it.

Sniper removed his hat, ran a gloved hand through his wet hair, and put the hat back. His strides were long and he was out before he knew it. The light rain was still going, a bit heavier than during battle. It was refreshing.

The marksman ducked into the cover of the forest and as soon as he felt he was alone enough, he stretched his limbs and slowed to a stroll’s pace.

The evergreens surrounding him were an immediate source of comfort. They were wet and poking him even through the Chronomancer, but he hardly cared. It just... felt good to be in nature.

He lost track of how long he’d spent wandering the forest, more or less in familiar paths he already knew better than the back of his one ungloved hand. All he knew was that, at some point, the sky was getting darker and his stomach started to protest his liberal expenditure of energy.

Sniper returned to base, removing the wet jacket and shaking it off at the door. He put it back on because base was actually kind of cold and he did not enjoy that.

“Have a nice walk, stretch?” Engineer asked him. He was also on the way to the dining hall, it seemed.

“Yeah,” Sniper replied. “Who’s cookin’ tonight?”

Engineer pulled the goggles off his eyes so they could dangle around his neck. “Demo and Pyro again,” he said, sounding just a bit concerned.

Sniper chuckled at his response. “They’ve been doing alright, y’know.”

“Ah, I know that. It’s just... I’m not keen on the whole magic thing. It worries me.”

 _You and me both,_ Sniper thought.

“I’m sure they’ll be fine,” he said instead of voicing what was going on in his mind. Weren’t the Demoman and Pyro both talented magicians? Neither of them were the most responsible merc, but the two were reliable in the kitchen.

“Maybe so. I can’t help but worry,” Engineer said. Then he frowned. “Probably from talkin’ to Spy. He’s a real worrier.”

Sniper was well aware of _that._

“See, Truckie? Nothin’s on fire,” the marksman said as they approached the dining room.

“Wouldn’t speak so soon, slim,” Engineer replied, pointing at the kitchen.

Sniper raised an eyebrow. Pyro was at the stove, flipping a... what was that? A giant pan or something? It was a lot larger than the one Scout used in battle. Also, the contents of the pan were on fire.

“Holy,” Sniper said.

“Alcohol?” Engineer suggested, taking a seat.

“Dunno, guess it could be.”

Demoman was on the opposite side of the kitchen, tending to plates on the counter. He was shouting instructions and encouragements to Pyro, who occasionally replied.

“They work pretty well together,” Sniper commented.

"Yeah, reckon so. They’re doin’ a heck of a lot better now than... two, maybe three days ago?”

“What happened?”

“Demo had a bottle of somethin’ neon green or yellow and whatever it was, he dropped it and set fire to the damn kitchen. Pyro was able to put it out but it rattled Demo real good. Myself, too.”

A bottle? Like the ones Medic had in his weird magic room? No wonder it burst into flames when it was dropped. Sniper would be pretty scared at the sight of that, too.

“Maybe they’ll be more careful now.”

“Hope so!”

Demoman entered the dining room with a plate in each hand, and two on each forearm. He placed them on the table without spilling anything.

“Glad ye could join us tonight, Sniper,” he said.

Sniper tipped his hat in response. “Good to be here. What’d you two make?”

“Pyro’s wanted to make Cajun food since we bought all the cornmeal and spices last weekend.”

“You guys really went out of your way for a single meal,” Sniper replied, impressed.

Demoman laughed at that but he took it as a compliment. “If you’d eat with us more often you’d see how often we do this. See you in a bit.”

Sniper was curious as to why there were no traces of his and the Demoman (and Spy’s) previous conversation. But that reminded him of Medic in the infirmary earlier, and the uncharacteristic fear he’d had. Sniper was amazed at how long it had taken him to come to the concrete conclusion that _he_ wasn’t the one whom Demo and maybe Spy saw as having done anything wrong. It was _Medic._

That was really all he could think of as the rest of his team drifted into the dining room and started eating. Neither Medic nor Spy were present, to nobody’s surprise. Sniper made a mental note to take some food back to Spy because the man had once rambled to him, for well over an hour, about Acadian food. Sniper was pretty sure that included the food in his mouth right now.

The others would sometimes try to include him in the general conversation going on. The day’s battles had been well-fought and won, so the atmosphere was light and the camaraderie was pleasant.

“Hey Snipes, how’s the shrimp?”

Sniper was chewing on one of them, though in a rather absent-minded fashion.

“Pretty good,” he replied.

“It’s crawfish, boy!” Demo corrected loudly.

“Sorry, sorry! Hand the bowl over, will ya?”

Where was Spy? Sniper was starting to wonder if he’d just fallen into bed and chosen to sleep for the whole night. Or maybe he had his own meal and just wanted to avoid the dinnertime yelling. That sounded apt.

What about Medic? In the infirmary, most likely. As the doctor had said, he preferred to avoid eating with the team. It wasn’t unheard of, as his presence or absence at the table was not a huge shocker to any merc, but still. Did he have anything to eat?

Sniper had taken two plates and was piling food onto them both. He wasn’t even sure what he was putting on them, or if Spy or Medic would like the food, but that did not matter. They would have to eat sooner or later.

“Snipes, you’ve hardly eaten anything! Are you takin’ _both_ those plates back to your room?” Scout asked, frowning at him.

“Nah. I’m gonna give ‘em to Spy and the doc.”

“Well good ‘cause they never eat anythin’. I asked Spy one time to join us for dinner and he threw an empty bottle of wine at me. Think you’ll have more luck?”

“Yeah. He’s my best friend, inn’t he?”

Scout nodded sagely.

“‘Sides, I’ve had enough to eat. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

There were a few good-bye’s and see-you-later’s around the table before Sniper left with the two plates of shoddily piled food.

Sniper hadn’t really eaten that much, but he wasn’t hungry. Spy was almost never hungry and Sniper had no idea what he subsisted on. That didn’t matter; the marksman had two plates of food and Spy would have to eat one of them.

He ascended the stairs to the second floor, made his way down the hall, and kicked Spy’s door.

“Hey, Jackie! Jacques! You in there?”

A dismal groan was the reply.

“Open the door, Jackie. It’s me.”

After a few moments of silence followed by pathetic shuffling, the door creaked open.

“Hey, I brought that food you like - _holy dooley!”_

Spy frowned at his response, but Sniper couldn’t really help it. The Frenchman was in visible shambles. His mask was crooked, his dress shirt was all rumpled, he wasn’t wearing pants, and he looked awful. Hungover or half-dead, maybe. He smelled like something Sniper couldn’t quite put his finger on.

“I have a headache. Go away,” Spy grumbled.

“Wh- a headache? Why don’t you just go talk to Medic? Also, take this. It’s Cajun, or something.”

“Ah. La nourriture acadienne. Thank you, Robin.”

“No problem,” Sniper said, passing the plate over. “We’re headin’ to the infirmary. Right now.”

Spy groaned again, louder and more dramatic this time. “I just want to sleep. Eat, drink, then sleep. That’s all.”

Sniper grabbed his friend’s arm not holding the food and tugged it. Alcohol, that’s what Spy smelled like. A kind that Sniper hadn’t had in a while. “Let’s go, Jackie. Before you puke on your damn bed.”

“I have a bucket,” Spy muttered. He freed his arm to lock and shut the door to his room, which he did so clumsily.

“And I don’t care,” Sniper said, grabbing Spy’s wrist again as soon as he was done reinstating his privacy, albeit in a poorly executed manner.

“He won’t want to see me,” Spy insisted.

“Why not?”

“Demoman and I... You remember when we spoke to you, oui? After that, Demo went to talk to him. I do not know what transpired in their chat exactly, but I know enough that: one, he knows I was involved in talking to _you,_ and two, he will not want to talk to any of us for a while.”

That explained a lot. Well, maybe not a lot, but it explained enough for Sniper to understand why Medic had been so skittish.

“We’re going to visit him anyway. You know better than to drink, Jackie. Alcohol always does this to you.”

Sniper was slow going down the stairs, especially with Spy behind him.

“I missed it. Je suis desolé. I am sorry.”

“It’s okay, I just want you to take care of yourself.”

“Does this mean I still have to go to the infirmary?”

Sniper turned to peer at his half-dressed friend, whom he was leading to the doctor’s quarters. Spy looked like he could fall over at any moment and frankly it was a miracle he was still holding his plate of food straight.

"Yeah. It does.”

With that, Sniper strode down the hallway, careful not to walk into any of the waiting chairs. He ignored his racing heart and knocked on the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \\\ [Please look at this image of a pancake.](http://i2.kym-cdn.com/photos/images/facebook/000/793/302/4a2.jpg)
> 
> I'm wondering if any of you are thinking, "man Kissen probably wrote in the pancake stuff to lighten the mood after all the other junk that's been happening". But in reality, I'm going to replace Sniper as the 'main' character with a pancake. Sorry, Snipes, I don't make the rules.


	7. Sun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Late at night with all my social media/chat programs off, I had a lot of time to sit with my thoughts and with Sniper's thoughts.
> 
> The majority of this chapter was speed-written over the course of just a few hours and if you can tell, I'm sorry about that, but I certainly enjoyed writing it in a sort of blaze of glory. //

“Come in, Herr Sniper,” Medic called from the other side of the door.

Sniper took that as his cue to enter. He let go of Spy to open the door and let his friend into the infirmary first.

“How’d you know it was me?” Sniper asked before shutting the door.

The doctor looked up from his paperwork at the dark wooden desk. He pursed his lips and peered at the marksman. “You knock,” he said.

“Does nobody else knock?” Sniper was frowning and he sounded genuinely upset with this discovery.

“Nein,” Medic sighed. “But the door is unlocked for a reason - many, in fact - so I have to deal with it. Most of our _kameraden_ simply barge in when seeking me out.”

“Bit rude, inn’t it?” Sniper chuckled.

“Very!” Medic agreed, nodding with enthusiasm. He caught himself and straightened out his demeanour, bringing back the detached, clinical side of his personality so he could address the issue in the room.

“Why are you two here? Did you fall down another flight of stairs?”

His tone was professional but Sniper, who was staring at the Medic with their conversation as an excuse, noticed the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth. Everyone was so damn patronizing.

“Nah,” Sniper grumbled. “He’s had too much to drink. And you know, by that I mean he _drank,_ period.” The marksman cocked his head to the side.

Medic chose to ignore the gesture; he was all business now. His voice was stern as he admonished Spy, “You know better than to drink. That is just about the only thing I have specifically told you, again and again, not to do. Now I’ll have to...” He paused, scowling. “You know.”

Spy glared daggers at the German. “Non. We will not. Just give me some damn painkillers.” To himself he added, “Connard.”

“I’m sorry, what was that?” Medic snapped. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way. If I have to bring Aodhán in here, know that I will not care how physically painful it will be to _fix_ what you’ve done to yourself.”

Spy winced at the sharp words. “Pardonnez-moi, s’il vous plaît,” he said, switching over to the formal pronoun in French as a sign of respect. Or submission. “I’m hungover, I know I did this to myself and it’s my own fault that I’m in this situation right now, but go easy on me. Please, docteur.”

Sniper had nothing to say but he looked a little anxious, still holding the plate of Cajun food from the dining room.

Medic seemed to relax a fraction of a degree and no more than that. He glanced at the Sniper and his frosty gaze thawed. Nobody would want to hear their best friend yelled at by the resident mad doctor.

“Fine. But you know there’s no quick way to solve this.”

Sniper wanted to ask what the hell Medic and Spy were talking about, but at the same time he didn’t want to know a thing. His friend could not handle alcohol. That much he was sure of. Not in the sense that he was a lightweight like Demoman had called himself and Medic, but he literally could not handle consuming alcohol. One shot of thirty percent would knock him out for two hours.

Even then, Sniper would never fault his friend for drinking. He understood how hard it was to tame self-control. And he understood not being able to deal with addiction, even years later. Relapse was painful. Every time, it was painful.

Sniper had been there for his friend whenever it had happened, and taken him to Medic almost every time. What he never really thought about was what Medic did to help Spy, and now he was filled with an overwhelming guilt for never having asked.

It never occurred to him that the _treatment_ would be painful.

A sudden hot fury bubbled up inside of him, and he wanted to punch Medic in the face. Of course, that would not help anything, and he’d drop all the damn food... Oh, right. The food.

“Hey, doc?” Sniper asked, trying not to sound like he was seething for no particular reason.

“Ja?” Medic asked. He was studying Spy’s face - what little of it there was to see with the mask on.

“I brought you dinner.”

Medic turned. “Thank you very much,” he said. “You can put it on my desk.”

So Sniper walked over to his desk, plate in hand. He wasn’t sure where to set it down. The desk was pretty wide, a decent workspace for the man who commanded it. But it was also a mess. To the left, there were some books and binders. There was a bottle, stripped free of its label, with a few writing tools held in it.

There were a few piles of papers and folders to the left, with many bookmarks sticking out of every pile. A blank notepad sat beside them. All over the middle of the desk, there were papers. Most of them were messy notes in German, written in blotchy black ink and occasionally accompanied by a diagram or sketch. The doctor’s beloved clipboard was sitting on top of the work, along with a few open manila folders.

Pens, pencils, and a few erasers were scattered all over the desk, taking refuge in the nooks and crannies between paper piles and all the organizers.

“Um, doc, I don’t know where to put it down.”

“Just make some space.”

Great advice. Sniper took the clipboard and set it on top of the notepad. Then he shoved the folders and loose papers to the left. Not an ideal solution, but it would do; he’d cleared more than enough space for the plate.

Spy cursed loudly, a cry of pain.

“You alright, mate?” Sniper asked from the desk, concerned.

Spy was gripping the examination table with one hand. His other arm, sleeve rolled up, was in Medic’s gloved hands.

“I’m fine,” Spy replied through gritted teeth.

“Herr Sniper.”

Sniper turned his attention to the Medic, asked, “Yeah?”

“Can I trust you to wait out here while I fix Spy?”

“Um... yeah.”

“Sehr gut. Come on, Spy.”

Spy didn’t even bother protesting. He looked rather pitiful but he allowed the Medic to lead him into the prototype medigun and magic room.

Sniper shivered. He did not want to let this happen. Really, what would Medic be doing to his friend in there? Magic, of course. Spy looked so damn upset about it, but he’d also accepted his fate. Sniper remembered how Spy had told him not to trust a magician practicing on him unless they knew what they were doing. Without a doubt he’d be protesting this if he did not have at least some trust in the Medic. Even if the ‘treatment’ would be painful.

Sniper did not want it to be painful for Spy. He didn’t deserve that at all and it was unfair. He felt useless because he couldn’t help. He didn’t even know what Spy was walking into, and all he could really do was wait for it to be over. Pray it wouldn’t be unbearable. Maybe ready himself to knock the door over.

Then he remembered something else. When Medic had healed his wound, it had aroused him to the point he got off, hardly any touching involved. Christ, was that his plan with Spy? No, that would be low... even for Medic’s questionable standards. Spy was hungover and not exactly in prime condition to succumb to lust. Maybe the arousal only happened with physical wounds?

Sniper realized he was pondering, perhaps a bit too much. He also realized he’d taken the seat closest to him, which just so happened to be the chair at Medic’s desk. It was an unwieldy thing. Dark, sturdy wood that matched the table. It was worn, cushioned, and surprisingly comfortable. Sniper tried to pull it up to the desk and managed to do so with a fair bit of effort. It was heavy.

Sniper shivered again, but this time not out of concern for his friend. Rather, he felt oddly excited. As if sitting at Medic’s station was something _verboten._ At the same time Sniper was firm in his thoughts that the chair was just a chair and the desk was just a desk.

But damn it all, no, it wasn’t that simple. Did any of the mercenaries just waltz into the infirmary to sit at Medic’s desk, even if it was out in the open? No. No, Sniper supposed they didn’t, because nobody really needed to do such a thing.

And yet he didn’t want to get up. He was feeling all tingly knowing that this was the spot Medic had passed many hours in, this very spot. He looked down at the papers, and another rush of adrenaline spiked within him. These papers were none of his business. Well, no matter - most of them were in German anyway. Not to mention that Medic’s handwriting was nigh indecipherable when he was taking notes, and it appeared most of the desk’s papers were notes... Wait. What was that?

Gingerly, Sniper lifted one of the open manila folders. He was careful not to upset the several papers on top of it. 

There was a sheet of slightly crumpled white paper. It was dated, with umber rather than black ink, in the top right corner, and it seemed that Medic had used the paper months ago, before the teams were transferred over to the Nightfall map. There were little prints on the top of the paper. Dark brown - likely dried blood - footprints. Sniper smiled; the prints were from one of Medic’s doves walking on the paper. And he’d kept it when he came to Nightfall without his beloved birds.

Sniper’s urge to punch him was all gone as he continued perusing the paper. In the same umber ink as the date on the paper, Medic had written a few things. In English. Sniper told himself not to read whatever was on there. His eyes did not obey.

_Archimedes got into one of the sample bags of blood. I need to lock them up better; she is far more observant than I give her credit for. Nonetheless, she has created some art on this paper, so I think I will keep it._

There was a slight shift in writing style with the next paragraph. The words were more slanted to the right.

_Aodhán has made me a promise today. When we get to Nightfall, he will teach me magic. I suppose my begging paid off! More likely than that, he was getting tired of me asking. But I cannot stifle my curiosity in relation to the topic; magic is something I have only been able to dream of using. Of course, when I learned it was a reality, I had to know more._

_Ao also warns me of its dangers. He reminds me of my old teacher, whom I regarded as a medical idol prior to his untimely death that I had no part in. That teacher had warned me of many things, like what and what not to do to people’s corpses. Anyway, I am eager to learn and become a student once more. To live life is to continue learning, is it not?_

Sniper blinked, reading over the paragraphs again. They had an air of innocence to them, even if they kind of implied that Medic was a murderer or accomplice to murder. To think of Medic as an eager student, as he so gently described himself, was quite the mental image.

Long nights spent practicing the same spell again and again. Exercises in drawing arcane circles and runes and symbols the right way. It was all very fantastical and yet it made Sniper want to know more about the Medic.

He flipped the paper over.

There were a few sketches of some of the mercs. They were fairly rough overall, but some areas had a lot more detail poured into them. There was what seemed to be Soldier or Demoman rocket or stickyjumping. There was Spy smoking, his slinky, catlike form recognizable even in a gestural drawing. Sniper smiled at the sketch of his friend; it seemed to capture his essence quite well. There was a sketch of Scout grinning wide with a black eye and some teeth knocked out. And finally, there was a sketch of himself, slashing the air with a shiv. Sniper raised an eyebrow.

The drawings were all very loose, maybe drawn from memory when Medic thought about the war and all the battles he’d been through. Still, Sniper was flattered that the doctor had paid so much attention to him, because in battle, it wasn’t easy to pay attention to anyone not in your immediate vicinity. The doctor had paid close attention to detail, to boot.

The drawings had some notes beside them, written in text so tiny that Sniper could hardly read it all.

Beside the Soldier or Demo’s drawing, _’Need to treat his leg later’_. Beside Spy’s, _’No more alcohol,’_ an unsurprising caption. Scout's wasn't captioned; he supposed the picture was worth a thousand words. Finally, beside his own, _’Injured arm’._

Sniper raised his arms as if they could remind him of an injury from months and months ago in the badlands. When did Medic find the time to take these notes? Surely, not in battle. There were so many unanswered questions coming from the paper. Sniper didn’t really want them answered; there was a certain appeal that the enigma and faint nostalgia exuded.

He just liked reading and seeing all of it. The paper with its dogeared corners and wrinkles and ink splats, it had a quality of candidness to it. The thing held Medic’s thoughts scribbled down in their truest form. Even though it was from months ago, Sniper felt like he was really looking into something. A window, almost, to the past. And into Medic’s mind.

Sniper closed his eyes for a moment. Medic had changed since then, hadn’t he? That was the way things happened in life. Thinking back to their time in the badlands, he couldn’t recall many special interactions with the German.

Well... maybe one thing in particular. Medic was excellent with his doves, and they liked Demoman, too, but Sniper had a way with animals that neither of them could quite compete with. When the birds had gotten rowdy or out of even Medic’s control, somebody would have to fetch Sniper to rein them back in. Back then, he’d viewed it as a chore and inconvenience more than anything. He was always glad to be helpful, of course, but at the same time, being summoned at strange times of the day wasn’t the best aspect of his life in the desert.

Sniper wondered if he’d taken the chances to talk to Medic, would they have gotten closer? Something he did remember was that after he’d helped out, he’d just sort of tip his hat and leave. Medic always thanked him profusely. Always. There was no shortage of gratefulness when Sniper helped him out with his birds, but Sniper had never made a big fuss out of it. It was just a service he was able to provide, no more.

Was that part of the reason Medic cared about him? Because Sniper had helped him out with his birds, even at six in the goddamn morning? ...He’d have to ask sometime.

A loud scream stopped his thoughts like an avalanche crashing into a speeding train.

“Spy!” Sniper yelled, eyes wide.

“He’s fine!” Medic replied from inside the room.

Another agonized scream from Spy did not support Medic’s claim. Sniper shoved the chair away from the table and got up. It screeched on the floor and he didn’t care. He stomped over to the magic room and it wasn’t until he got there that he realized he was gripping Medic’s paper in his hand. With haste, he folded it and shoved it in one of the pockets of his slacks.

“Are you cutting him open? Bloody hell, doc!” Sniper demanded, more as a warning of his presence than a threat or actual question.

The gunman stumbled backwards as the room’s door was _flung_ open.

“I thought this was a one-way door!” was the only response Sniper could think of as a wave of white smoke surged towards him. He coughed, trying to wave it away.

Medic snapped his fingers - an impressive feat with gloves on - and most of it cleared. His face was flushed and he looked like he’d just woken up from a nightmare. Or been harangued by Spy for the past ten minutes in that room, despite the fact that Spy had clearly been the one suffering.

“It’s not a one-way door,” Medic replied, his words a strained gasp.

“Is Spy okay?” Sniper asked, even though he was quite sure that Spy was very much not okay.

“He’s _fine,”_ Medic stated, still panting as he shot a sideways glare to the marksman.

“Are _you_ okay?”

Medic frowned weakly. “I am tired. Spy will be fine. The pain is blinding - but only for a moment... or two separate moments, in this case. Sniper-” he said, his voice shifting in pitch so suddenly as he said Sniper’s class name that the marksman was immediately alert.

“Yes?” Sniper queried, hesitant and a bit confused.

“I think I’m going to...” Medic continued, unable to complete his sentence as he collapsed.

“Shit!” Sniper hissed, darting forward to catch the doctor before he hit the floor.

“Jacques? Jacques, are you up?” Sniper called as he tried to steady Medic in his grip. The doctor’s head was lolling against his shoulder and that was making it hard for Sniper to concentrate.

“Ughhhh,” Spy groaned from inside the other room. “I will be out in a second,” he said, sounding groggy.

Better than dead, Sniper decided. Which was what Medic might’ve been. “I think the doc passed out. Or he’s dead. I can’t really tell.”

Medic’s limp body twitched. Sniper supposed it was a twitch; maybe it was just the body shaking from his legs buckling as he tried to carry the doctor.

“He will be fine,” Spy replied helpfully.

Sniper slowly made his way over to one of the cots in the infirmary by the windows. He set the Medic on top and stretched his arms. The air was colder, but there were some devices next to each cot that might’ve served as heaters. Sniper did not know how to operate them and did not wish to find out by breaking one.

He looked up. Through the slats in the blinds, he could see it was dark out, but the sky was clear and star-speckled. Beautiful, really. A shame the doctor had to miss it.

Sniper looked back down and when he did, he shivered yet again. This time from the cold. He’d never handled the cold well. It was possible that Medic would fare just fine. His hands were hot, after all. Wait, wait... Medic _was_ alive, right?

The marksman took a deep breath and pressed to fingers to Medic’s neck. It was a lot gentler than the time Medic had done the same to him. In any case, there was a pulse, and it seemed to be beating steadily.

“Are you cold here?” Sniper asked.

No response. Of course.

He sighed and figured the least he could do was allow Medic to wake up in the comfort of his own bed. The marksman made a quick glance backwards. Spy had not yet emerged from the magic room. In fact, he was groaning softly. He didn’t sound like he was in pain, just sore, and probably also tired.

So Sniper undid two of Medic’s jacket buttons and reached inside. Even though he’d been drunk the time Medic opened the door to his room, it wasn’t hard to recall where his keys were kept. There, on the left side of his inner jacket pocket. Sniper fished them out and unlocked the room door. He stuffed the keys in his own pocket and lifted Medic up again. It was a lot easier to carry him bridal-style than just sort of supporting him while walking.

Even then, Sniper was exhausted by the time he’d placed Medic on the bed. He took a deep breath and told himself that working out his arms wouldn’t be such a bad idea after all. It would make Soldier happy to see another teammate actually working out, and he wouldn’t be so tired anymore lugging around bodies if the chance to do so ever arose.

Sniper was tired but he wasn’t so tired that he didn’t react to being inside Medic’s room. It smelled a bit like him and that made Sniper seize up. There was the familiar medical scent, primarily consisting of disinfectant. But then, the undertones of blood, of medicine, of rosemary and magic. And then there was _him._ Sniper chanced another look outside. Spy was still complaining to himself, which Sniper could understand.

Medic’s breathing was shallow but he was breathing at a steady rate, so Sniper assumed that was a good sign. The poor man had used up all his energy performing magic or doing whatever it was he was doing. Considering the rosemary scent, it had been magic. Sniper was surprised at how it didn’t sicken him, despite how annoying it had been to him for so long. No, it wasn’t so bad when he was up close and personal with the doctor.

He was leaning even closer, subconsciously, and when he noticed he didn’t even bother trying to stop himself. Sniper bit his lip and he didn’t care because Medic couldn’t see. He neared the doctor’s neck and stopped at the sight of scars. Oh... bite marks. Sniper reddened and even though he was alone, he was grateful for the darkness of the bedroom because it concealed his blush. His teeth had done that.

After taking the neck wraps off, Sniper had slapped a bandage on the marks on his own neck and called it a day. Medic had his weird self-healing ‘ability’, which explained how the marks had scarred. Respawn didn’t leave scars, but maybe self-healing did. In any case, the marksman was very much turned on by the sight of the scars and inhaling Medic’s scent. It overpowered the rosemary, even if Medic had just practiced magic.

Sniper touched the doctor’s shoulder lightly. He had to pull himself back. Medic was unconscious; Sniper had no right to touch him now. It would be best to just let him get some sleep.

“Robin?”

Sniper’s head snapped up and he scrambled off of the bed. “Yeah?” he asked.

“I’m not feeling well. No, wait, I’m feeling better, but I think it’d be a good idea for me to just go and rest. Where are you- oh. Did you put him to bed?”

Spy poked his head in Medic’s bedroom, obscuring half of the white light pouring in from the infirmary.

“Yeah,” Sniper said, nodding towards the doctor’s sleeping body.

“Bien. Do not worry about me. What he did was magic, but it’s something he’s had to do to me before enough times for me to trust him with it. So I will be fine after I sleep.”

“Good to hear,” Sniper said, turning to his friend, whose tone was light despite the haggard look on his face. “As long as you’re feelin’ better.”

“Leave him some water, will you?” Spy asked. “I’m going to go now. Please get some sleep tonight, too.”

Sniper nodded. He stood, watching his friend go. Spy dipped out of sight and Sniper did not move until he heard the open and closing of the infirmary’s doors.

The gunman exhaled loudly. One of those times he didn’t realize he was holding his damn breath. The air smelled like rosemary, or pine, or whatever it was, it didn’t matter.

Sniper sat back down on the bed, careful not to squash the sleeping Medic’s legs. He kicked his shoes off, set his hat and aviators on the bedside table, and for a while, he just sat there. Hunched over and immobile with his elbows resting on his knees.

He would’ve been deep in contemplation had he the energy for it. His thoughts were white noise at this point. Nothing quite connected, and everything just came and went.

Sniper was humming to himself, a quiet tune from snatches of his dreams. He shut his eyes, feeling a bit of peace loosen the nervousness in his chest. Being so close in proximity to the Medic, it always made him nervous. In the past it was due to fear, and now? Was the fear still there? Yes, but more prevalent was something else. Something lighter than fear.

The marksman turned around. Medic was hardly visible in the darkness. Even so, Sniper could see enough of his visage to determine that he looked almost content. Before he could stop himself, Sniper was stroking the doctor’s jawline, cupping his face in a hand.

The rosemary and pine and blood and disinfectant, all of it mixed together until Sniper couldn’t tell which was which. He just knew he was sleepy, and here was a bed in front of him. Not his own, and not even a bed he could half-claim for himself, but... He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t very, very tempted.

His heart fluttered. What if Medic woke up? To see Sniper staring down at him with longing in his heterochromatic eyes? That gave him a bit of a thrill. Sniper was sure he’d be embarrassed, but he also kind of _wanted_ Medic to find and see him here. He was staring, after all. There was a certain dishonesty in looking away...

“What happened that evenin’, doc? Are you ever gonna tell me?” Sniper murmured, his words melding.

Sniper turned around again, facing the door to the infirmary. He got up to turn the ceiling lights off, but he turned Medic’s desk lamp on. It seemed to be Medic’s only source of light at night, and since he was retiring early tonight, why not turn it on?

Sniper shut the door to Medic’s bedroom. There. Now there was no denying it even to himself; he didn’t want to leave. Whatever he was feeling, whatever he was going to do, he’d deal with the ramifications when he woke up again.

The Medic was snoring softly. Sniper bit his lip again as he contemplated and carried out his next course of action. He took the doctor’s boots off. He really shouldn’t have set Medic on the bed with the boots on in the first place but he was not a good body-carrier. Next, he unbuttoned Medic’s jacket, then his vest. Sniper loosened the tie and stopped when Medic’s snoring hitched. He didn’t want to press his luck, nor did he wish to wake the doctor. So he left it at that, and pulled the blanket over the German.

Sniper decided to just go ahead and take his pants off because damn it they were annoying him even in his half-asleep state. He tossed them on the floor and crawled into bed, thinking a thousand prayers for Medic not to gut him as he woke.

As soon as he was settled and had the thin blanket over both their bodies, Sniper managed to relax a little. The bed was comfortable and hadn’t he spent time in it before? The memories were foggy at best but so were the rest of his thoughts.

Now was not the time to dwell on whatever had happened that one time. Not when he could practically taste Medic’s breath right in front of him. Sniper felt another cold shiver pass through his body. Damn it, Medic was a being of warmth in the cold but the marksman was not.

He inched a little closer to Medic. What he was doing was risky, wasn’t it? But god, it felt so good to be close to the Medic, it really did. And again, Sniper wished he was outside of base, living a regular existence, a regular _life._

Sniper’s thoughts were faint as he grew more and more tired.

_I’m gonna ask him about that evening. I’m gonna ask him why he’s scared of... whatever it is._

Before he succumbed to the darkness and the lilting melodies in his sleepy head, he threw an arm over the slumbering German in bed with him. And he pulled Medic just a little closer.

 

Waking up was an ordeal; as soon as Sniper’s eyes were opened he was thrown into a panic. The mere hue and brightness of the sunlight told him that he was going to be late for work. It wasn’t until after he realized that that the foreign feel of his surroundings settled in. Disinfectant and blood. Warmth despite the thinness of the blanket on top of him.

“...Medic?” Sniper asked, tipping his chin up as he finally noticed the presence behind him. He calmed down at the sight of the somber expression on his visage. “We’re gonna be late.”

The German was sitting against the corner that the bed was pushed into, looking out the window. He was in his pyjamas and his hair was messy, but he had his glasses on.

“It’s Saturday,” Medic replied, turning away from the window to face Sniper. “Remember? No work today.”

“Right,” Sniper said. In the past, he’d discussed with Spy at length how odd it was, not working on weekends, as if being a mercenary was something even remotely comparable to the average joe’s nine-to-five job. He didn’t need to dive into that topic again.

“It’s only nine,” Medic said, his voice so damn gentle that it was making Sniper’s chest feel tight. “You can go back to sleep.”

But the marksman propped himself up on an elbow before sitting up to kiss Medic’s cheek. The doctor flinched at the touch. Just barely.

“Danke. For last night. Spy came in an hour ago, awake early as always, and told me about it. He... neglected to mention I would wake up with _you_ in my bed.”

Sniper opened his mouth to explain when he remembered that he didn’t actually have an explanation.

“He told you that you passed out after treatin’ him, yeah?” Medic nodded. “I brought you back to your bed ‘cause I figured you’d like to sleep here better’n outside. I was really tired. Didn’t wanna go back to my own room and I thought it’d be nicer sleepin’ here... with you.”

Medic looked absolutely stunned. As if the very thought that the marksman had, _on his own volition,_ chosen to stay the night in Medic’s bed. With Medic in it, sleeping beside him. He felt his face heat up and he didn’t know what to say.

Sniper pressed closer and nuzzled into the crook of Medic’s neck, breathing in his scent. Feeling his racing pulse going so much faster than last night.

“Sniper...”

“Yeah?”

Medic was overwhelmed. Sniper just being there was one thing, and one thing he could deal with, but it went further than that and he was pretty sure that the marksman didn’t think much about it. Or maybe just not the same as Medic thought of it.

As far as Medic was concerned, Sniper had just about no reason to trust him.

The doctor had put him under Medi Gun sedative and performed healing magic on him without having informed him beforehand that he’d be doing such a thing. Even after Medic told him, Sniper let him do it again and he never even asked _why_ Medic had done it the first time around. His reason had been selfish; he wanted to practice.

Besides the general healing fiasco, Medic had gotten close and sexual with Sniper even when he most certainly had no right to. Everything had been consensual - barring the time they were both drunk because, well, they were both drunk - and still Medic felt guilt for what had transpired. In the past, Medic had hardly interacted with Sniper at all. There was nothing wrong with forming a bond despite their lack of one beforehand, it was just... unprecedented?

And still, fucking still, Sniper liked him. In what way, Medic was not yet sure. But even more important than that was the fact the marksman _trusted_ him, because the doctor knew that Sniper wasn’t exactly the trusting type who’d sleep with just anyone. Now, there was no excuse of being drunk to fall back on. Tiredness was not a passable excuse, either. Sniper had been in relatively full control of his decisions and he chose to go to bed with Medic. He could not tell himself he was suspicious of the doctor’s actions or wanted him to explain what had been done to Spy. Had he wanted an explanation, he could’ve waited outside, slept on a cot, or gone back to his own private quarters before confronting the doctor again.

Yet here he was, in Medic’s infirmary bedroom, both of them only sort of dressed. Leaning towards the doctor, all of his body language and his expression displaying interest. So sweet was his expression that Medic could not help what came out of his mouth:

“Ich liebe dich.”

The words were soft and harsh and desperate. Medic had not meant to let them slip out but he was extremely glad that his language filter had kicked in at such a crucial moment.

“Meaning?” Sniper asked, pulling away from Medic’s neck to make eye contact with him.

Medic could not hold the eye contact and pressed into Sniper instead, kissing his collarbone. The marksman still had a shirt on but there was enough exposed skin for Medic to work with.

“Sleep for me,” Medic murmured, breath hot. “I’ll... I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Sniper rested a hand on the doctor’s shoulder to guide him away gently. He knew he’d never get anything done in his life, ever, if he allowed Medic to continue kissing him there.

“Will you?” he asked.

“I will,” Medic promised, stroking the marksman’s hair. He wanted to be tangled with Sniper forever.

Sniper pulled Medic off of him so he could kiss his forehead. Stray black hairs tickled his nose.

“Sleep, schatz. You must be tired.”

“I’ve been sleepin’ since last night,” Sniper replied as Medic guided his head down onto his lap. “I’m not gonna fall asleep unless you’re with me, doc.”

“You know I don’t sleep much.”

“Then just stay here. You know I don’t like being in base but I like bein’ in here so don’t go yet please.”

“Of course,” Medic murmured, settling back down at Sniper’s side.

Sniper pulled the Medic closer to him and stared into his eyes. Ice. Storm clouds on a winter day. Cold and bleak and barren. But only their hue, for the look in those eyes was one filled with so much fire it put Sniper at a loss for words.

He rubbed along Medic’s jawline before pulling him in for a light kiss, hardly a peck on the lips.

Sniper had more questions in his head than he wanted to spill out. Right now, everything felt like glass... no. Like frost, delicate and pale as Medic’s irises. Frost that could shatter with a single vibration through the air, or melt with a single touch from a fingertip. He wanted to hold onto the moment. He wanted to hold onto Medic.

But he also wanted to say something because the tension and heat was making his skin prickle and his stomach swirl. He wanted to fill the gaps.

“What is this?” he asked quietly.

Medic couldn’t look away now, not with the calloused hand against his face, not with the thumb rubbing gentle, slow circles onto his cheek. So he looked straight into Sniper’s eyes, one more golden, one more brown, and said to him:

“Love.”

Medic did not add that the translation of his German words were, _’I love you.’_

Sniper blinked a few times, breaking the gaze as he looked away, as if the ceiling was a logical place to turn to now.

“‘M not sure if I can handle that,” Sniper replied.

Medic appreciate that Sniper could at least tell the truth, assuming he was being honest in his vague reply.

“I know,” Medic responded, as if he understood when he really didn’t understand a thing. He closed his eyes. “I understand.” He lifted his hands to grab Sniper’s shirt in a light hold before pulling his head in. He rested his forehead on Sniper’s chest because he couldn’t handle any more eye contact.

When Sniper wrapped an arm around him in a manner that might’ve very well been protective, Medic felt his heart give a squeeze. His eyes stung even while closed but he refused to let even a single tear fall because it was useless to mourn what he did not and could not have. If he couldn’t have Sniper in the sense that he wanted Sniper, then so be it. They were in bed together and that meant something, if not everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \\\ It gets better.
> 
> Whether I am talking about this story or something else, that does not matter.


	8. Pause

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for taking so long to update. I’ve been working on my history summative project (also catching up on [And Darkness is Fading In, And Darkness is Real](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3485693/chapters/7656323) by the lovely [Katie](http://genuineanger.tumblr.com)/[skarletfyre](http://archiveofourown.org/users/skarletfyre) <3) and I’m glad that damn assignment is now out of the way. I have art commissions and my Anime North cosplay to contend with, but believe me when I say I'm working on this story. //

Sniper had to piss. In his arms, Medic had drifted off, even though he didn’t sleep much. Still, his being asleep now likely had to do with the fact that lying down in bed, within somebody’s grasp, did not allow one many options. Sleep was the easiest option.

Very carefully, Sniper removed his arms from around Medic. He didn’t want to wake the man, figuring more rest would be a good idea for him.

But Sniper also didn’t want to wake Medic lest he noticed the boner.

It was an awkward shuffle to the bathroom worsened by how Sniper could not get his mind off of the doctor. God, now his clothes smelled like him, to boot. He was becoming desensitized to the blood-like smell. Brilliant.

Sniper was glad he was not wearing pants; it made things easier. He relieved himself, flushed the toilet, and turned his attention to the sink. It was rather small, but so was the entire washroom in the first place. Except this washroom had something amazing in it: a _bathtub._ There was also a showerhead, but the tub was the only one in the whole base.

Sniper washed his hands with greenish soap that smelled like wildflowers and sunshiney days. It nearly flew out of his grip mid-lather. He set it back in the dish with great care. The marksman sighed; he was still so jumpy. As if Medic would be upset with him for using his nice soap. Or sleeping in his bed...

No. No, Medic would _not_ mind Sniper in his bed because of what he’d called their relationship. Or whatever it was between them, the feelings and the experiences and the touches, some gentle and some not so gentle.

Love.

It felt extremely dirty to realize that recalling Medic’s words made Sniper’s boner worse and bloody hell he needed to shut the water off it had been running on his hands even though all the bubbles had been washed away and, and-

“Okay. I can do this,” he breathed, wiping his wet hands off on the towel dangling behind him. He honestly wished it was Medic’s because that would’ve added another element of _inappropriate_ over everything. But Medic’s was dark grey, not white. The white towels in base were for general use - in this case, for infirmary patient use.

How long had it been since Sniper loved someone, in the romantic sense?

Months ago. Over eight months. Now it felt like a lifetime, an eternity ago.

“Bloody fuckin’ hell,” Sniper hissed. The trip across the medbay from bathroom to bedroom was just as uncomfortable the second time around, if not worse now that Sniper was dwelling on Medic instead of brushing the thoughts away. Not brushing the thoughts away just meant it’d be a lot more complicated to alleviate the... everything.

“I told you I would be here upon your wakeup.”

Or not. Because the solution to the issue in his pants wasn’t complicated - it was rather simple, wasn't it?

“Yeah, you did,” Sniper replied, pursing his lips and giving a strained attempt at a casual nod.

It took Medic all of three seconds to take in the Sniper’s body language and it took another full two seconds for him to notice the boner. Sniper could’ve sworn he saw a glint in Medic’s bright eyes and he might’ve been more sure had his glasses been on.

“Come over here.”

Sniper couldn’t have disobeyed if he wanted to and frankly he didn’t want to.

He climbed on the bed but he didn’t lie down. He was on his knees and watching the Medic beneath him, approaching him. His movements were fluid and so unlike what a person’s movements should’ve been like if they just woke up.

Damn it, he was bloody attractive.

Medic didn’t bother pushing him down to an actual sitting position on the bed. He just leaned in closer to Sniper and groped his thigh with a hand.

“You could’ve told me, you know. I would’ve gotten up for you.”

Sniper groaned at the pressure on his inner thigh inching its way higher.

“Didn’t wanna bother you. ‘Sides, I needed to use the facilities.”

Medic tsked. “You make better decisions when you’re sober, then,” he stated. But then he realized what he was alluding to and did not elaborate, because he’d memory-wiped Sniper after that evening.

“I make great decisions whether or not I’m sober.”

“Ja, well... whatever you say, Herr Sniper,” Medic replied, pushing the marksman’s shirt up and kissing his belly.

Sniper yanked his shirt off. It would only get in Medic’s way. It did occur to him, however, that now was a perfect opportunity to question the doctor about that evening. It was still fuzzy but the bits he’d retained were fresh in his mind.

He looked down and Medic looked up, right into his eyes. Sniper’s face grew hot at the sight of Medic pulling his boxers down and holy hell now was not the time for talking; it was the time for doing.

“So what happened to your reservations?” Sniper asked. He bit his lip.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Medic replied, taking Sniper’s cock in a hand. He would’ve liked to toy with the marksman but he’d just re-woken up and he was as tired as he could be with a dick in his hand. Also Sniper’s raging boner was really, really hard, and he probably wouldn’t appreciate being teased.

For good measure, Medic gave it a few solid pumps before letting go.

“Do you think you can do this standing up?”

Sniper tilted his head to the side. “Look, mate, whatever it is we’re doing I’m not exactly about to stop ya just ‘cause I like being on my knees more.”

Medic quirked a smile. “Crass, but charming,” he commented, shifting off the bed.

“Unless you _want_ me on my knees,” Sniper continued, the familiar growl of arousal creeping into his voice.

Medic was on his knees now, on the floor. He licked his lips at the mental image of Sniper in submission. “Not this time,” he said, placing his hands on the marksman’s waist. They were heating up but Sniper didn’t even flinch. He looked up, making eye contact again. It lasted no more than a few seconds but it was electrifying.

“Are we... really gonna do this? Whatever you’re gonna do?” Sniper asked. He sounded unsure.

Medic patted his hips gently. “We don’t have to.”

Sniper ran a hand through his hair. “I’m _not_ saying no.”

“But are you saying yes?”

“...Yes. Yeah, I am.”

Sniper paused, glanced at the wall, and bit his lip.

“Please,” he added, the word practically a single rasp from his throat.

Medic took hold of his cock again. The German’s own pants were growing uncomfortable but he didn’t want to tend to himself quite yet.

“Mmm, ja. I like to hear that,” he said.

“Please,” Sniper repeated, already sounding breathless. “Oh bloody hell, doc, _please.”_

Medic rubbed at his length slowly, tracing veins with his thumb, keeping his touch light. He went back on his own mental promise not to toy with his prey.

Sniper’s groan of frustration was music to his ears. “Really?” he asked.

Medic could feel the quiver of his muscles resisting the urge to move from their position.

“Tell me,” Medic murmured, rubbing a hand up Sniper’s inner thigh again. “What you want.” He retreated his hand and brought it around again to squeeze Sniper’s ass.

“Fuck,” Sniper hissed. “Fuck, I want _you.”_

Medic hummed in response, pleased as he returned his hand to its rightful position at the marksman’s hip. He gave another kiss, right below Sniper’s bellybutton, and resisted the urge to make a bad ‘bushman’ joke because there were more pressing matters to attend to.

“Are you gonna-”

“Shh,” Medic interrupted. He dipped his head down to take Sniper’s cock in his mouth.

 _”Ffffuuck,”_ he snarled.

As far as the marksman was concerned, Medic gave blowjobs like he really, really enjoyed it. And like he knew exactly what he was doing. Frankly, as far as Sniper knew and could tell, the Medic _did_ enjoy it and knew what he was doing. It’d be hard for anyone with eyes and ears to say otherwise; Medic was humming in a way that suggested he was trying to communicate something and his pace, the bobbing of his head, was not merciful.

Mirroring the first time this had happened between the two, Sniper asked, “May I?” in a rather helpless voice.

Medic didn’t even slow down as he nodded slightly and hummed affirmation.

The wall was about a foot behind Medic’s back, and Sniper slammed a hand down on it, clutching the smooth surface even though it offered no purchase. He used his other hand the grab the back of Medic’s head, effectively stopping his less than gentle ministrations. Medic wasn’t as prepared as he thought he was when the thrusting began.

He’d underestimated Sniper’s need and fell back against the wall, but he didn’t release his own hands from the marksman’s hips despite how hot they were no doubt getting.

Even though he had his magic and arousal-induced heat, there was a feeling like vulnerability in the German, being at the whim of Sniper’s lust. It was thrilling and he let Sniper shove his cock in his mouth even though his jaw was getting tired and there were fluids dripping down his chin.

Not unlike the first time, Medic wasn’t the best at handling asphyxiation and he was sure the back of his throat would be bruised afterwards if he didn’t self-heal.

If he was able to speak, he’d ask Sniper to slow his thrusting, even just a little. But he wasn’t, and he wasn’t sure if he really _wanted_ Sniper to slow down, and the light-headedness, the fogginess of his mind was surprisingly bearable. If not downright pleasant.

Sniper had thrown all his inhibitions out the window. Sure he’d trespassed into Medic’s room, in a way. Sure, he’d trespassed into Medic’s bed, even if he was tired. Sure, the two had not made any agreements to commit lewd acts of debauchery. But frankly he was getting his dick sucked and if it didn’t feel good then he wouldn’t exactly be fucking Medic’s head into the wall, would he?

Of course, Medic was grateful in some part of his muddled thoughts that Sniper had the decency to cushion his head from the wall with a hand, even if that hand with grabbing his hair. Well, not that he minded.

Sniper stopped abruptly, panting, that Medic scarcely noticed before he was coughing. Air was welcome in his gasps for breath. He recovered quickly, and wiped off his chin before removing a hand from Sniper’s hip to stroke him.

“Almost...” Sniper groaned.

Medic glanced at the clock out of some absurd reflex, even though its back was to him where he sat on the floor. It didn’t matter how long it’d take, and it didn’t matter if it didn’t take very long at all. The doctor was determined to finish Sniper off.

He cleared his throat. Sniper was still panting when Medic resumed the fellatio.

“Bloody eager, aren’tcha?” Sniper asked, chuckling in a rather charming out-of-breath way.

Medic resisted the urge to laugh at that comment due to the fact that Sniper was, without a doubt, more eager than he was. Really, the wall-fucking was all he needed to state if he wanted to give a witty reply. But his mouth was happily occupied so he didn’t bother. He just dug his fingers back into Sniper’s hips.

The invitation was clear, so Sniper pushed forward into his mouth, almost experimentally at first. About five seconds later, he adopted a faster pace than before.

Medic, to his credit, took it in stride. The heat and bliss enveloping them both, the hypercharged energy of the moment, all of it was fuel enough to replace the lack of oxygen he was receiving. At least for a bit.

Sniper might’ve lasted longer if he didn’t look down. Medic’s face was red and there was a sheen of sweat on his skin but bloody fucking hell, he really did look gorgeous. Even with a cock in his mouth. Maybe _especially_ with a cock in his mouth - if that notion wasn’t quite so ridiculous.

“Ah, fuck!” Sniper grunted.

If Medic could’ve opened his mouth any more, he would’ve. As it was, all he could really do was wait for the cum to shoot down his throat. Sniper’s low, murmuring mumbles of approval were heavenly to listen to as he pulled out.

“Fuck, that feels good. You’re really good at this, y’know? Bloody beautiful, doc... you’re bloody beautiful.”

Medic would’ve had more time to feel flattered had it not been for the click of his door opening. The infirmary, not his bedroom, thank Administration.

“Yo, doc!”

The Sniper and Medic froze.

“Ach, mein gott,” the doctor grumbled.

Sniper helped him up. “‘M guessin’ I should stay in here.”

“Bitte,” Medic replied. He straightened out his clothing, tucked everything in, and buttoned everything up. He was grateful for having slept in his roomy pants because the boner was not going away anytime soon.

“Medic? C’mon, I know you’re in here! Yo! Doc! Medic! Doctah!” Scout called from the medbay.

“Give me a second!” Medic yelled back. He turned to Sniper and gestured to himself. “Do I look passable?”

“Um,” Sniper replied. He snorted and giggled a little before standing up again to help straighten out the Medic’s hair. In the German’s defence, Sniper was at fault for messing it up.

“Alright, that’s a li’l better,” Sniper said. He stood back, cocking his head as he scrutinized the doctor, judging to see if he was fit to venture out to see what the hell Scout wanted. But then he bent down to fetch his shirt - it had been cast away and abandoned on the bed - and threw it at Medic.

“You should probably, uh, clean up.”

Medic shot him a brief glare but he went ahead and wiped his face with the shirt anyway. It smelled like Sniper. A shame he had to get cum and saliva on it.

Sniper took a seat on the bed because he wasn’t exactly decent. Nor was he clean.

Medic made for the doorknob when the marksman spoke to him.

“You smell like sex, you know.”

The doctor tossed over his shoulder smoothly, “And whose fault is that?”

He had the door open and closed quick and neat. Sniper was left sitting on his bed, shaking his head with a rueful laugh. Breaking away from his brief ecstasy allowed his mind to clear. Now he could think clearly, sure, but that didn’t mean he was any less confused about his _feelings._

It reminded him that situations like this were exactly why he was a loner who did not confront his feelings.

“Guten morgen, Herr Scout,” Medic greeted the runner. He was crisp, formal, but his tone shifted to something more stern as he asked, “How many times have I told you to knock before barging into my office?”

Scout rolled his eyes. “This place ain’t an office, doc. ‘Sides, I needed to, umm, fetch ya. But I, uh...” His sentence trailed off as he snickered. “I can see...” He started laughing in earnest.

“What?” Medic snapped, narrowing his eyes.

Scout did not stop laughing until Medic repeated his question. Finally, he managed to collect himself and reply.

“Doc, did’ja _really_ think I wouldn’t notice that you fuckin’ smell like jizz?”

Medic’s sharp inhalation and look of wide-eyed horror was more than enough to set Scout off again. He doubled over with hysterical laughter.

Despite his embarrassment, Medic resisted the very tempting urge to smack the Scout and knock him onto the floor. Had Scout not straightened himself out again to continue talking, Medic was quite sure he would’ve kicked Scout out. Literally. But at least with the moment of terror, his boner went away.

“Alright, I’m sorry,” Scout said. Medic glared at him and his shit-eating buck-toothed grin. The apology could’ve been any more or less sincere - and it was pretty damn sincere-sounding - and the Medic still would’ve glared with acidic, burning anger.

Medic sighed in resignation. “How would you even know what that... smells like?” he asked.

Scout blinked; the question had thrown him off guard. But then he scoffed. “‘Cause I do, doc. ‘Course I do,” he said, with no explanation before continuing. “If that’s what you’ve been doin’ in your room, I ain’t gonna ask for the details.”

Medic wasn’t sure if he was grateful or still pissed that Scout had hit the nail on the head so quickly in the first place.

“I didn’t come here to chat, ‘cause you know I don’t exactly get up early unless somethin’s happening.”

“Did something happen?” Medic asked, eyebrows knitting in consternation.

Scout took a deep breath and exhaled loudly through his teeth. “Yeah, you could say that. Y’oughta bring the Medi Gun.”

At that, Medic decided that the situation was serious enough for him to care and thus, take action. Firstly, Scout, as he said, did not get up early if he could help it. Secondly, if whatever had happened meant he had to be sent over to the infirmary to fetch Medic, whoever was hurt couldn’t go to Medic themselves. And thirdly, Scout had dropped the topic of what Medic had been doing in his bedroom. That alone was enough for the doctor to get moving, if he was going to be honest.

“Quick suggestion?” Scout added, following the doctor as he removed the Medi Gun from its station.

“Ja?” Medic asked, slinging its accompanying backpack on with ease.

“Rinse your mouth or take a mint.”

Medic turned to curse at Scout in violent, aggressive German, but the runner was not mocking him. He didn't have a mocking expression on his face, and he was offering a tin of little white pills. He even shook the tin a little for effect, but Medic went over to the sink, yanked his gloves off, and rinsed his mouth anyway. When he was done with that and had his gloves back on, he took the mint tin and tossed back four.

“You only need one,” Scout pointed out. He had an eyebrow raised and a peculiar expression on his face. But whatever words he was holding back, he didn’t voice them. Of course, the doctor didn’t suspect that Scout already knew with whom he’d slept, so he decided to get going.

“Lass uns gehen,” Medic replied with the mints against a cheek, shoving Scout towards the doors.

The doctor glanced back, wondering if Sniper had heard the conversation. Scout hadn’t asked if Medic wanted to say goodbye to his partner, because the current problem was more important, or maybe because it just didn’t occur to him to make that offer. Medic suspected it was the latter, so he just hoped Sniper was willing to wait. And if not, then at least willing to understand why Medic had to leave him at such a time.

“Tell me what happened,” Medic said as Scout led him down the halls.

“Alright, well I was in the lounge - uh, living room? Rec room? Whatever! I was chillin’ with Demo and Spy ‘cause we were playin’ checkers. Me an’ Demo, I mean. Spy doesn’t do checkers. Anyway we were all in the lounge and I swear nobody was doin’ nothin’ bad! Just chillin’, like I said, a’right? Then Soldier comes in, ‘cause he’s prob’ly been awake since freakin’ _dawn_ like always. I uh, dunno what exactly he was yellin’ at Demo for, but he was yellin’ at Demo for somethin’ and it sounded kinda important? Like, really serious, somethin’ like that.”

Scout’s long-winded explanation meant that he and Medic arrived at the scene of the crime before he finished.

“Mein gott...” Medic whispered with the mints on his tongue, which might’ve been more comical had the situation been lighter.

“Ah, I see you’ve decided to join us, docteur.”

“Herr Spy, _was passiert ist?”_

“What do you mean, ‘what happened’? Did the Scout not explain? Soldier caused a commotion so loud that Heavy came down here - from reading, I presume - to see what was going on. Evidently, that was not the best decision simply because _Demoman_ was also here and drunk. They were yelling about the godforsaken pancake before I-”

“The pancake,” Medic interrupted flatly.

“Oui, docteur. Just let me finish. They were arguing about a pancake and naturally, Soldier joined their noise-making as he thoroughly enjoys straining his vocal chords in the direction of other people doing the same. I tried to stop them when the fistfighting started. I did. But then Demo had to go and use magic.”

“Spy,” Medic said.

“Quoi?”

“You _are_ aware that your organs are falling out and you are also missing half an arm? Not to mention, getting blood on the floor...”

Spy rolled his eyes. He was clutching his abdomen, rather loosely, with one intact, blood-dripping arm. He lifted his other half-arm in the air, waving it a bit in a gesture to punctuate his incoming sarcasm. “Really? You know, I didn’t notice until you brought it up just now. I assumed that Scout coming to get you was just so you could join their board game. Which, by the way, I bled on.”

“I was winning, too,” Scout groused. “This is like when my own arm was taken off, ‘cept with Spy.”

Medic trained the Medi Gun, on low, at Spy to help staunch the bleeding. But it wouldn’t do shit against how much _body_ Spy was missing.

“Herr Spy, I think I should just send you to respawn.”

Spy grimaced. “Are you sure it would be safe after last night?”

Medic thought about him and Sniper last night. But of course, before that, he’d treated Spy for his stupid, stupid, awful choice to drink.

“It’s the best option at this point.”

“Fine,” Spy relented.

“Wait, before I...” Medic cleared his throat instead of finishing the sentence. “Do you know what Demo did? What he... used?”

Spy glanced down at the demolitions expert’s prone form on the couch behind him. Heavy and Soldier were nowhere to be seen, but there was Demo.

“Non. It was bright green, though.”

“That’s just the colour of his magic,” Medic sighed, shaking his head. “Everyone has their own colour. His is green, mine is red, yours is white.”

“I do not know any more; you will have to ask him yourself. Hurry up, the blood is getting everywhere.”

Medic nodded grimly, dutifully. He peeled part of Spy’s suit off of his chest and removed a folded balisong from an inner pocket. With a few flicks and unintentional hits to his knuckles, Medic unfolded the knife and he slit Spy’s throat. No warning was given, and no warning had been needed.

Scout was speechless and he looked traumatized. Ironic, considering his job, which was really the same as all of the other mercs’. But the expression faded into something more neutral. Unsurprising; fast recovery from death was necessary for all of them to survive in the war.

"Tsk, don't worry. He'll be back to criticize your checkers game in ten minutes or so."

Scout crossed his arms. "Yeah, well I can't really finish the game without Demo."

"Then in the meantime, entertain me."

Scout grinned. He uncrossed his arms to flex them. "Oh, yeah, I can entertain, doc! Take ya to the gun show."

"Bitte, aüfhoren, stop... that's not what I meant," Medic said, reattaching the Medi Gun to his pack.

Scout took a seat on the arm of the couch Demo was laying on. The same couch Medic had lain on after getting shitfaced.

"Then what, doc?"

"What happened to Soldier and Heavy?"

"After Demo did the magic thing, which was so cool, did you know he can do magic? Without those weird spellbooks from the magician guy?"

"Ja, he's my best friend."

"Alright well he did the thing and it was really weird. 'Cause he made a bright ball of light, and it sort of pushed energy out, and light, and sound. Except there was no sound? Like, there was a screeching noise, even when I covered my freakin' ears, but it was so high-pitched... Guess that's why you didn't hear it? Or maybe 'cause you were busy..."

Medic shot him an icy warning glare.

Scout went on. “So there was this really bright light and weird noise. It sorta blew us all back, but Spy was the one caught in the middle.” The runner shook his head, shuddered a bit. “He was just try’na shut them all up, but I guess standin’ in front a’ Demo meant he took the worst of it. Soldier and Heavy were hit too, by whatever it was, and it was... It made them act all weird, like nothin’ happened in the first place, even though Spy was standing there bleedin’ so much! The two of ‘em went back to their rooms, I think. They din’t say much.

“Demo fell on the couch and as soon as I recovered, he grabbed my arm real hard. It was like whatever the magic blast did to my head, he cleared it. He also kinda bruised me but don’t worry ‘bout that right now, doc. He told me to get you as fast as possible. Immediately. So I was like, ‘hell yeah, fast is my middle name!’, y'know?”

Medic nodded slowly, digesting the information. Despite the Scout’s detailed though not very scientific-sounding explanation, Medic had no idea what magic his friend had done. But he could fill in some of the other blanks, at least. He knew that Demo never cast magic casually, but if he was drunk and angry, it wasn’t a long shot to guess that his patience had run out. Thus, he made the arguing stop the fastest way he knew how to - by using magic.

Of course, that didn’t excuse whatever it was he’d done. Spy was hurt, hit the hardest. Though he was going to respawn and return before long, the aftereffects... Medic winced because he was sure they would not be gentle, mixed with Spy’s treatment last night. Soldier and Heavy would likely be fine, assuming that Demo’s spell hadn’t been anything too drastic. It sounded like something within the scope of his power and knowledge, though; Demo didn’t cast risky spells, inebriated or not. Scout seemed fine. A bit subdued, but probably because he just witnessed his teammate blow part of Spy’s body off and dragged Medic over only to have the doctor slit Spy’s throat. Subdued was better than freaking out.

“So what do we do?” Scout asked.

Medic looked down at the blood. “Get that cleaned up.”

“Ugh, do I have to?”

“If you can get Herr Soldier or Heavy to assist you, then by all means, ask them yourself. But my work here is done until Demo wakes up. By the looks of it, he will not be awake for at least another hour.”

Scout peered at the Scotsman splayed on the couch. One of his legs was hanging off and he was limp.

Medic noted the runner’s gaze. “A cadaver, in almost every way,” he said quietly. “He will recover sooner if he is undisturbed. If anyone tries to enter the living room, remove them.”

Scout whipped around, gawking. “Do you mean _remove-”_

“Nein. Keep your guns down. Just do not let anyone bother him.”

“Can’t you take him back to the infirmary?” Scout groaned.

“If I move him now...” Medic shook his head firmly. “Watch him for me. I... cannot stay.”

Scout’s eyebrows shot up. He understood. “A’right, doctah. But you owe me!”

Medic rolled his eyes, but he replied, “I will repay you for this another time.”

“Thanks. Have fun!”

Medic gave him a withering look. He decided not to stick around and make more vaguely insulting conversation, because Sniper was waiting. If he was still there, he was waiting.

As soon as he was back in the medbay, surrounded by it, he sighed in relief. He shut the door and another one opened. The one to his bathroom.

“Oh, hey,” Sniper greeted, white towel wrapped around his waist. He had another around his neck. “Hope you don’t mind I used your shower while you were gone doin' whatever.”

Medic waved him off with a dismissive hand. “Just my job. And it’s fine, I know it’s nicer in there than in the communal showers.” He took off the backpack and the Medi Gun.

“Yeah,” Sniper said. He cocked his head and a mischievous grin split across his face. “Never see you in there, doc.”

The thud from the Medi Gun and its pack hitting the floor was ridiculously loud.

For some reason, that made Sniper laugh. “Bloody hell, didn’t think that would set you off. Sorry, doc.”

Medic muttered something indignant in German before setting his machinery on the counter. He reached for the Medi Gun’s plug.

“Ja, I do not enjoy being in there when I can have my privacy and quiet.”

Sniper seemed bent on making conversation because he didn’t let the topic go. “Aw, c’mon. You used to shower with us, didn’t you? Not a lot, but sometimes.”

Medic plugged the Medi Gun back in and settled it onto its docking station.

“I used to, that is correct,” he said, fiddling with his tool of healing so as not to have to face the Sniper because frankly, he wasn’t wearing clothes and Medic did not want to be distracted. He’d tamed his hard-on earlier. Now was not the time for another.

“Not anymore,” Sniper responded. It sounded more like a statement than a mere reply, but it was a correct one.

Medic let go of the gun, turned around, and looked Sniper in the eye.

“What are you implying?” he asked as coolly as he could, facing the half-dressed marksman.

The initial reply was a bark of laughter. “‘M sorry, I didn’t mean to pry, honest. ‘S just odd how you’d sometimes join us and now you’ve stopped altogether.”

Sniper followed Medic into his room. The window had been opened; it didn’t smell like lovemaking anymore. Medic made a mental note to clean the place up as he opened his closet.

“Take this,” Medic said, passing over a bundle of clothes.

Sniper took the clothes. There was a t-shirt, a pair of shorts, and boxers. All labelled with Reliable Excavation Demolition’s logo, marking them as standard-issue merc clothing.

“I trust you will need to head down to the laundry room shortly. I would appreciate it if you added my current attire to the load.”

“Yeah, sure doc,” Sniper said, giving the Medic a sideways glance. When the doctor started stripping in front of him, it was all he could do not to throw his towel to the floor and pounce him. Instead, Sniper just shut the door to Medic’s bedroom lest one of their teammates walk in on them.

“Right careless to do that before closin’ the door, don’tcha think?”

“I’ve made worse decisions,” Medic replied with an amused smile.

“Aw, c’mon, don’t be like that,” Sniper sighed. “I didn’t mean what I said ‘bout the shower, whatever you thought I meant.”

Medic gave a soft sigh. He passed Sniper his clothes before grabbing his bathrobe - also from the RED company - and pulling it on.

“I was not offended,” Medic said, giving Sniper a serious look now.

“Then tell me,” Sniper replied, unusually insistent. Medic would’ve expected him to just leave the topic as it had been left, but now something flickered in his eyes. Curiosity, perhaps.

“Tell you what?” Medic asked, frowning somewhat as the two walked over to the infirmary’s entrance.

Sniper opened one of the doors, although he did so with reluctance. “Why you don’t shower with us, mate. I’m curious.”

Medic pursed his lips as he looked Sniper over. He’d given him the clothes to _wear,_ but clearly he had to worry about the question he’d been presented with.

“Because,” Medic began, in a very measured way. He took a half-step closer to Sniper, who backed up to the door. The doctor continued without skipping a beat, “If I showered there while you were present, our teammates would have more to say to me than mere idle conversation. And I think you can understand I would not want to give them an explanation for being aroused in the damn showers after having been so _neutral_ to everyone for the whole time we’ve been together and shared showers.”

“Wait, do you mean-”

“Mein gott,” Medic muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. He looked up, made eye contact with Sniper, fixing him with a gaze so hard it was almost a glare. “You turn me on.”

Sniper opened his mouth to speak and Medic didn’t let him as he took the door handle.

“There. I said it out loud. Now _gehen.”_

Sniper was pushed out of the medbay. Not roughly, but Medic’s hands were burning so much that he might as well have been shoved roughly for how much he balked at the heat. He stood outside of the infirmary a little longer, feeling a little dazed.

Sniper's face was red.

He pressed his side against the wall, clutching it with a hand. Only now did he really feel the bruises on his hips, the odd tingle in his skin from Medic’s grip. Sniper took a deep, deep breath. The sensation had been dulled under the shower, but now it was clear it would last until being healed or going through respawn.

Frankly, the marksman couldn’t care less. He was tempted to charge right back into the infirmary and demand that Medic leave more bruises on him.

 _Why?_ he asked himself in his head.

The answer was formed before he even needed to ponder.

It felt good. But not just that. _Medic_ felt good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \\\ Sniper! Don't you know that opening up to people in fiction is the fastest way to get yourself killed?
> 
> I hope the opening scene (well, post-opening scene. The fellatio. That’s what I meant.) was _juuust_ enough to throw you all off before I jammed a wrench in it. :)
> 
> also idk why ppl trust me to write shit like fucking/sexual activities b/c i have zero experience w/ REAL COCKS !! wow . i honest to god had to ask several dick-wielding friends of mine about dicks and boners for maximum accuracy
> 
> p.s. the word 'fellatio' makes me laugh so hard


	9. Breath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope the wait wasn't too long. This chapter is, to me, nothing if not interesting. In what way? I suppose you can be the judge of that.
> 
> In other news, I'm taking up MvM again and I'm glad because I need to finish my damn 15th tour already. //

“What did you do to them?”

The question sounded rather accusatory, but Medic’s tone was professional, and maybe just a bit curious.

Demoman looked weary. He wasn’t tired because of his friend’s question, but more because he’d only woken from his nap a few minutes ago. As soon as he was sitting up, Scout, who’d been present the whole time, hopped out of his seat and dashed over to the infirmary.

“I dunnae think I can explain it the way you want,” Demo replied.

“Try me.”

The Scotsman frowned but then a thoughtful expression unfolded on his visage.

“A pushin’ spell that got out of hand because Spy was in front a’ me,” Demoman explained with a little shake of the head.

“Had he not gotten so close, what would’ve happened to everyone?”

“Ach... he wouldn’t have gotten hurt, an’ Scout wouldn’t have been blasted onto the floor.”

Medic nodded slowly, trying to link Demo’s words to what little he knew about specific spells.

“Spy’s alive now, aye?”

“Ja, I asked Scout to tend to him. I had a feeling he would develop brief post-respawn sickness due to last night’s treatment for his drinking. It’s been a long while since he - or most of us, really - have had respawn sickness. I can only pray it keeps him sober.”

Demo shifted himself on the couch. He turned his head to face his friend sitting on the armchair beside him.

“We should purge him,” the Demoman said.

Medic’s eyes widened. His friend was not joking around; he was being dead serious.

“Nein, I cannot accept that,” Medic said. “It is not as simple as what you said you taught him to purge Herr Sniper. If we do this to Spy, he will resent it. He will not accept it. And it will _hurt.”_

“There’s no guarantee it’d help, but doc, we need to try,” Demoman sighed.

“The chance it will work is seventy percent. That’s not enough for us to take the risk,” Medic insisted. “Besides, if we harm him further, the Sniper will be just as affected.”

Demoman scratched his chin. “Aye, you have a point there, cannie lad.”

“Ao...”

The Scot laughed, punching Medic’s arm lightly. “Jus’ teasin’ you,” he said, smiling. “I just don’t want Spy to get worse because of us and magic.”

Medic took a deep breath. “The fact we are allowed to practice during the war, as we stay in this base - it’s quite something. Administration forbid we lose that...”

Demoman patted his friend’s shoulder. The touch was brief, but the flow of tension from Medic’s quivering form was transferred in an instant.

“Ach mein gott! Did you just-?”

The Demoman nodded sagely.

“You’re the one who says not to use magic on others casually,” Medic grumbled, shaking off the tingling on his skin.

“I din’t use magic on you,” Demo said. “I just transferred some energy an’ now you’ll be tired enough to rest.”

“But I slept last night!” Medic cried, indignant and rightfully so.

“Aye, maybe so, but one night is nothing against not sleepin’ for a whole week.”

 _“Ughh,_ I was going to get work done and now I have to nap because you did the... whatever it was,” Medic grumbled, trying to stand. He was wobbling.

“C’mon, doc,” Demoman said, getting up to help support his friend back to the infirmary. Medic slung an arm over him.

“I’ll get you back for this later,” Medic promised. “Next battle I’m bringing out the Crusader’s Crossbow. I will heal you in no other way.”

Demoman just patted Medic’s shoulder again. His hands were warm, though not like his friend’s with hot red magic.

Boots thumped against the floor of the medical wing hallway. The base was relatively quiet otherwise, due to it being morning. Although the other mercs would be out and about sooner or later, there was a brief time of respite, of peace even during the weekend.

Spy and Scout were already present. Spy was sitting on one of the windowside cots, bucket in his lap. Scout was pouring some glasses of water, by the looks of it.

Medic wondered if Sniper was still around, in his room. He wanted to check, but first he decided to be helpful.

“Herr Scout, there are some pills in the second cabinet. Middle shelf,” he said, pointing to the cabinet he was talking about. “An orange bottle, labelled with Spy. Give him two with water.”

Scout nodded. No other questions were asked about the doctor’s weak state or about why Demoman had to half-carry him into the medbay. He just went to look for the pills.

“Danke, mein Freund,” Medic said softly. He was just outside his room. He could make it inside himself. “I will be fine, come back later if you don’t feel well. You know where the spare keys for the other cupboards are kept, ja? Ja.”

Demoman nodded, carefully removing his friend’s arm from his shoulders.

“Don’t let Spy an’ Scout drive you crazy,” he chuckled.

Medic replied with a faint smile, even as he could feel the haze of exhaustion closing in on him. He opened the door to his bedroom just enough for him to slip through, and shut it so slow and gentle, it was as if it was made of glass.

If Demo wanted him to rest, then fine. He’d rest, despite having slept for far longer than necessary. Medic set his glasses on the table, shoved his boots off, and shed as much clothing as he could manage. He was left looking relatively dishevelled, not unlike a hungover partygoer waking up in somebody else’s house in the morning with a tie looped around their head. At least Medic had managed to loosen the tie. He did not bother taking it off, though he did manage to remove the gloves, pants, coat, vest, and socks with garters.

Medic crawled onto his bed and pulled his rumpled blanket over himself even though it smelled like sex and Sniper and it was intoxicating he could just lie there forever-

There was the sound of commotion outside.

“Was?” Medic mumbled, attempting to lift his head from the pillow.

Was it commotion, or was it just regular conversation? Medic cursed his excellent hearing because when he was in a compromised state, he could hardly trust it.

It seemed to be conversation, but it was quiet. Calm.

Medic was starting to drift off when the door to his bedroom opened.

 _Scheiße,_ he thought. He’d forgotten to lock the damn thing.

“Spy passed out. Scout told me you were restin’ here and he yawned a whole lot. Told ‘im he should go sleep and I’d take care of Spy, but he was stubborn about helpin’ out. Said he’d use one of the beds here if he got tired. Then he kinda shrugged and went to wash the bucket he had. Dunno why he had a bucket and I’m not sure I care right now. More concerned ‘bout why you’re tryin’ to sleep. You don’t sleep.”

Medic blinked a few times. The tall, though blurry, form in his doorway, now in his room approaching him, could only be Sniper. As if he wouldn’t recognize the voice, anyway.

“Your concern is appreciated. This is Ao’s fault.”

Sniper quirked a smile at that. “‘Course he thinks you don’t sleep, mate. It’s ‘cause you don’t.” He hesitated for a moment but sat down with one knee on the bed, peering down at the doctor.

Medic reached a hand over and Sniper held it in his.

“I slept with you.”

Sniper leaned closer. The familiar adrenaline rush was hitting him again. It was like when he’d lain Medic on his bed last night, after he passed out from treating Spy. But Medic was awake, more or less. This was so much better, when he was awake.

“I know.”

Medic brought Sniper’s hand closer to his face and kissed the back of it with a touch light as moth’s wings flapping.

“Sleep with me again,” Medic murmured, bringing his other hand over to hold Sniper’s in both of his own.

“Scout’s gonna know. The others are gonna notice we aren’t there for breakfast or brunch.”

“I don’t care, Robin.”

Sniper inhaled and exhaled silently. He looked out the window, where sunlight was pouring in through the thin crack in the curtains. A bright stripe of sun ran down the length of half of Medic’s blanket, with his body warm underneath. Inviting. The room was dim, just barely illuminated by light getting through from the covered window and from the underside of the shut door.

“Maybe I do,” Sniper replied quietly.

Medic’s eyes fluttered and shut. With a deep, slow breath, he said, “You don’t have to stay, you know.”

Sniper didn’t say anything for a moment. Medic might’ve thought him gone were it not for the fact he was still holding the marksman’s hand.

“‘M gonna stay,” he said, his voice hardly louder than a breath.

Sniper looked down, over his outfit. The simple, standard clothes Medic had given him, even the shorts. He did not wear shorts and took them off, along with shoes, glasses, and hat, before climbing into Medic’s bed next to him.

He pulled the doctor close with an arm, rested his chin against the top of his head, feeling the dark hair tickle his chin.

Medic took his other hand, the one that wasn’t on him, and clasped it in both of his own again. He was tired, so tired, he could just about feel the energy leaking out of him like blood from a wound. He murmured sweet nothings until he could hear the marksman’s breathing slow its pace.

Sniper could still feel his heart racing but he could also feel his body relaxing as all nervousness drained away, replaced with a glowing feeling, a pleasantness. He emptied his mind of thoughts. He didn’t need to think about what he _felt_ or anything outside of this bedroom, this bed he was in right now.

He was quite sure he was doing the right thing when he heard and felt Medic’s contented sigh and it made him feel content and peaceful, too.

 

A trail of fire shot through the air before making a sharp u-turn to return to Pyro’s gloved palm.

“Impressive,” Demoman commented, rubbing his chin.

He and Pyro were in the middle of their pre-dinnermaking ritual, which involved a little magic show. They didn’t spend a lot of time together otherwise, so the evenings were a good time to catch up with everything. The sun setting over the mountains was a fine sight as they practiced outside. There were few clouds in the sky.

Pyro cocked their head as their magic flame dissipated. Demoman looked pensive and it didn’t go unnoticed. Pyro made a few quick gestures with their hands.

“What?” Demo asked. “Can you repeat that?”

Pyro signed their question again, a simple _’What’s wrong?’_

Demoman replied with some more hand signs, his fingertips sparking green.

_’Doctor’s asleep.’_

Pyro tapped the side of their mask thoughtfully. _’Sick?’_

Demoman shook his head, signed, _’Tired.’_

 _’He’s always tired,’_ Pyro signed back, lowering their head.

“I oughta check on ‘im,” Demoman said.

Pyro nodded at that and mumbled an agreement.

“Y’know, Py, at first I din’t think I’d be okay with talkin’ to you with hand signs. Thought the doc could fix you bein’ mute, but I think I understand now. Even though you can hear us jus’ fine, and can maybe talk to us but don’t... I get it, lad, I do.”

Pyro tilted their head to the side, inquisitive.

Demo gave a single nod. “Fixin’ the problems people have had in’t as easy as castin’ a magic spell, eh?”

Pyro responded with a flurry of signs, _’People are more complex than spells.’_ Their gloves glowed orange-yellow as they signed ‘spells’. _’If we could fix them with magic, we would have already fixed them.’_

“Aye, seems you’ve known this for a long time. ‘S like you’ve been waitin’ on me to learn it, too.”

Pyro made a noise that sounded like laughter. _’Some lessons are best learned only when you are ready to learn them.’_

“Aye,” Demo repeated, in deep thought.

Pyro mumbled more, in an insistent way now. _’I can cook dinner with Aaron if he isn’t building something new. Go check on Medic.’_

 

“I swear to freakin’ god, I am gonna _punch you in the-”_

“Get your hand off of my tie unless you would like it to be forcibly amputated.”

“Y’think you can just treat our teammates like that?”

“If you believe you know more about Spy’s condition than I do, then by all means, care for him yourself. Send him to respawn again and see how he reacts to _that.”_

Scout glared up at the Medic, whose tie he had in a white-knuckled fist. The runner had another fist up in the air. His arm muscles were tensed and he was poised to strike. Medic was far from looking intimidated. In fact, he looked mildly annoyed and exasperated more than anything.

“So what you were ‘bout to do that’s s’posed to _help,_ you crazy fuck?”

Medic secured Scout’s wrist in a gloved hand. Scout’s reflexes were sharp and he made an attempt at jerking his limb away from the searing heat. He would’ve succeeded had Medic loosened his grip. As it turned out, he did not, and tightened it instead. The message was clear: he was getting tired of this bullshit.

“If you do not shut up, you will need to leave,” the doctor snarled.

“Fucking hell! Fucking hell, okay! Okay, I’m sorry I-I _doubted_ you, okay?! Frickin’ shit fuck bastard let me go, _please!”_ Scout yelled, clawing at Medic’s arm with his free hand. He was tearing up from the pain that radiated out of his wrist.

Medic let him go. Scout fell to the floor, cradling his wrist as he spilled violent curses.

“Sit down,” Medic said, keeping his voice as cool and even as he could manage while being absolutely livid. “And if I hear a single word from you, I will throw you out of here myself.”

Scout grabbed the nearest cabinet handle and hoisted himself up off the floor with it. He shot a worried look at Spy, still sleeping on the cot behind, and collapsed on the bed beside him.

“I heard yelling?”

Medic and Scout turned to the infirmary door opening. Sniper raised his eyebrow at the two of them. Scout, splayed on the bed, clutching his wrist. Medic standing over him, imposing as always.

“Nothing I could not fix,” was Medic’s reply. He did not ask why Sniper had returned. Maybe to check on Spy. Maybe to check on him.

Sniper shrugged. The explanation was satisfactory enough so he didn’t press the issue, especially because he’d technically been kicked out earlier.

“Help me carry Spy to my room.”

Sniper squinted at the doctor through his tinted lenses. He was certain that Medic would be able to carry Spy himself, and not just because Spy was thin, light, and clearly weak-boned from his thinness and lightness. He’d also been fairly sure that Medic was going to tell him to leave again, but apparently not.

“Okay,” Sniper said, instead of asking. “Which one?”

“My work room.”

When Medic yanked the Kritzkrieg off of its perch, Sniper understood why he had to take Spy. The doctor only had two arms, after all.

With a great deal of limb-repositioning, Sniper slowly managed to take Spy in his grasp and lift him with a grunt of effort.

“Bloody hell, I think he’s even lighter’n Scout over here.”

Scout shrugged even though he was lying down. “Muscle weighs more than fat, don’t it?”

Sniper barked out a laugh. “‘M gonna tell him you called him fat even if he’s the skinniest bloke on the team.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it, prick!” Scout snapped. He made an attempt at lifting off of the bed but Sniper was too far to punch, so the attempt was futile.

Medic opened the door to his room of prototype mediguns and the table of magic. The knife that he’d shoved in the wood was still there, possibly even in the same spot as before.

“Where do I... um...?”

“Put him on the table.”

“Great,” Sniper sighed. He set his friend down on the table. “He doesn’t fit.”

Medic grumbled in frustration, as if that didn’t even occur to him despite the fact that the table was not a big table. It was maybe three by three feet, a square of etched wood held up by crooked legs. No, Spy would definitely not fit.

“Fick- agh, just hold him. Give me a second.”

Medic scrounged through the pile of parts and oddities on the other table. Bottles clinked as his quick hands brushed against them. The long metal table, similar to the one in Engineer’s workshop, would’ve been a place to put Spy down, had it not been covered in junk.

Sniper was trying to prop Spy on the table to sit upright but his limp body would not co-operate and it was getting ridiculous until..

“Hey, I did it!” Sniper exclaimed. He stepped back. He’d placed Spy in a sitting position against the wall. His head was lolling to the side and his limbs were awkward in their limpness, but he was indeed fitting on the table. More or less.

Medic turned, a bottle in each hand. “Oh, excellent. Ja, this will do. Hold my gun, if you would be so kind.”

Sniper hadn’t even seen the doctor attach the Kritzkrieg to its accompanying backpack, but he took it off anyway.

“I think this is almost as heavy as Spy,” Sniper commented, glaring at the device.

“Ja, well, the standard Medi Gun is actual heavier,” Medic replied. He removed the tubes on the underside of the Kritzkrieg by wiggling a bottle between the body of the gun and the tubes. They came out easily enough.

“Here, take this,” Medic said, holding the other bottle out. Sniper adjusted his grip on the Kritzkrieg so he was supporting it by the barrel with a hand, then he took the bottle. There was a loose powder inside. It was hard to tell in the dim room, only lit up by small windows, but it looked beige. Like the earth’s dust from the Badlands, just paler in colour.

Medic tied the tube around the neck of the bottle, shoved the open end through the top, and tapped it. Inside the bottle was a dark fluid sloshing around, but it didn’t spill even as Medic dropped it and let it dangle. It seemed he sealed it with magic.

“Other bottle, bitte,” Medic said. Sniper handed it over and almost dropped the Kritzkrieg in the process. He made sure he had a grip on it with both of his hands because frankly it was too heavy for just one hand to carry. Not that he’d admit it.

Medic repeated the process with the second bottle of powder, and flicked the switch behind the tubes. The yellow shafts of light coming from the slats in the side of the Kritzkrieg’s barrel rippled and turned white.

“You use this to do magic?” Sniper asked, passing Medic his gun.

“Only for special circumstances. I do not like to leave magic residue on my mediguns if I can help it.”

“Ah,” Sniper replied, nodding a bit as if he understood. “So what were you tryin’ to do to Spy that got Scout so worked up?”

Medic rolled his eyes. “I tried to pick him up. That’s it. That is literally all I tried to do before he started shouting at me.”

“He’s, uh, protective. Don’t be so hard on him.”

The doctor made a face. “Ja... I suppose so. He can be rather protective, yes. Why he even cares about Spy is beyond me.”

“Don’t be so cold,” Sniper teased. He paused as he lost track of what he was going to say because normally he would’ve left the doctor’s comment as it was. “Spy’s our teammate, and Scout watched him get half-blown up, and he watched you send him to respawn, didn’t he? That’s what you told me after he passed out.”

Medic patted the Kritzkrieg and approached Spy on the table. “I’ve told you a great many things, Herr Sniper,” he said softly, closing his eyes. His hands started glowing, even through the red rubber gloves.

Sniper took a step closer. His hands were stuffed in the pockets of the RED shorts Medic had given him because he didn’t want to distract the man. But his proximity meant that Medic could barely, just barely, feel the marksman’s breath on his ear when he spoke.

“Wonderin’ how many of those things you meant, doc.”

A hum ran through the Kritzkrieg, followed by a few whispers from the Medic. The white light from the barrel faded into pink, then red. A surge of violent crimson vapour burst out of the Kritzkrieg, shot through with dark, tendril-like things of liquid and streams of off-white powder, glittering in the wake of the gun’s beam.

Sniper was expecting it to make contact with Spy’s resting form, but instead, the beam shot into the table, lighting up a few circles and symbols. Then, red light shot up from the table, not unlike the time Spy had made his own arcane circle on the roof of base.

The aviators proved useful for keeping bright light out of Sniper’s eyes. He watched the magic, or the Kritzkrieg’s healing beam, or maybe both, surround and envelop Spy. It was more terrifying than anything, and Sniper was tempted to bolt. But this was his best friend being healed so damn it, Sniper would be there in the event of anything going wrong.

As quickly as it had appeared, the Kritzkrieg beam shut off, lights and all. Medic looked winded but he approached Spy even as he held the gun in his arms.

“He will be fine,” Medic proclaimed. “The aftereffects, I am not sure of, especially because I had to run him through respawn before this... But I hope they are light this time around.”

“This time around?” Sniper repeated. “You’ve done this before?”

Medic pursed his lips as he studied Spy, still unconscious though sitting up on the table.

“Ja. Twice, back in the Badlands. How else do you think I’d be able to fetch the correct ingredients so quickly, for this treatment?”

Sniper shrugged. It wasn’t exactly in his realm of knowledge, this healing and channeling magic. “Do I put him back?”

“Bitte, that would be ideal. Danke.”

Sniper picked Spy up, and carried him back to the windowside cot. He noticed that Scout looked kind of nervous, so the marksman opted to lighten his mood.

“Think fast, I’m gonna dump him on ya.”

Scout cursed loudly, scrambling to the side of the bed. The far side, so he wouldn’t fall off.

Sniper laughed. “Relax, I was kiddin’. You look bloody miserable,” he said as he placed Spy back on the other cot.

Scout settled back down onto the bed with a frown and indignant huff.

“Yeah well my arm hurts so how ‘bout that, huh?”

“Take it up with the doc.”

Scout flopped onto his left side to glare out the window. The view consisted of little more than trees.

“Maybe I will,” the runner muttered. He was clutching the bed sheet with a hand and he looked quite pitiful, half-curled up but fully clothed.

“You’ll what?” Medic asked, walking up to Scout’s bed.

“Nothin’,” Scout replied. He didn’t even bother to flip back around to face the doctor.

“I’m sorry I grabbed your wrist.”

“It’s okay.”

“Here.”

Medic dropped a chilled ice pack in front of Scout’s face, startling him.

“It might help.”

“Thanks,” Scout said, taking it and pressing it to his burn.

Sniper looked concerned. He watched Spy for a bit just to take note of the steady rise and fall of his chest. It helped him to confirm that he was not yet a corpse. Apparently, Spy going through respawn wasn’t the best for his health. But he was alive, so there.

And Scout? He didn’t get this way very often. He was upbeat if not angry like in battle, spitting taunts and threats. Except he was also in pain, likely very tired, and somewhat traumatized from earlier. He was already drifting off.

Sniper went to tend to the last person on his checklist. Of course, his usual checklist would contain a few basic needs for survival, Spy’s well-being, and... not much else. Rifle care, maybe?

“Hey, doc.”

“Ja, what’s the matter?” Medic asked. He was sifting through papers on his desk.

With a sudden flash of panic, Sniper remembered how he’d taken one of Medic’s papers. A very personal one, too. Where had he put it again? Oh bloody fucking hell. His _vest._ Sniper had folded the paper and tucked it into one of his inner vest pockets. It didn’t seem like Medic even noticed its absence, though, because he was working on something else. Taking notes in quick German - about Spy and Scout, maybe.

“Uh, nothing’s the matter,” Sniper replied. Where was his vest? The laundry! He’d taken his clothes - and Medic’s, after his little strip show - to the laundry room. “Just... come fetch me if anythin’ happens to Spy.”

Medic looked up from his work, eyebrow raised. “Is that all?” he asked. His gaze was prying but Sniper could not entertain it this time.

The marksman just nodded and left, long legs making long strides out the infirmary and down the hall.

Medic didn’t even bother calling out a farewell. It would sound too desperate. He knew he would sound too desperate, full of more want than he wanted to display... outside of the bedroom, at least. He shut his eyes. So how was it going to be? Sniper was okay with fooling around but he didn’t want anything more, was that how it was?

Of course Medic understood. The marksman was not his to claim. He could not _will_ Sniper’s feelings to match his own. It was simply the way of things. So why did he still feel so disappointed? Why did the infirmary feel so damn empty after Sniper left?

Scout jerked to alertness upon hearing the violent shatter of a bottle against the floor. His gaze was led from the dark ink splattered across the tile, its trail punctuated by bits of broken, glittering glass, up to Medic at his desk. He was hunched over, hands gripping the hair at the back of his head. He snarled to himself in frustration and the Scout decided it was safest to lay down again to pretend he had been sleeping all along.

 

Nobody had done the laundry yet. It was hardly a surprise; the mercs could forgo doing laundry for days at a time. They had plenty of spare clothes, and they only needed one of their battle uniforms at a time, thanks to the miracles of respawn, the Dispensers, and mediguns. A quick glance at the schedule taped up beside the entrance told Sniper it was Pyro and Scout’s turn to do the laundry. 

The big hamper was only half-full, though. Not to mention the fact that Scout was incapacitated at the moment and Pyro was probably helping with dinner, as they’d done for the past month or so with Demo and Engineer’s assistance.

Sniper peeked into the hamper. His earlier, post-tryst addition of his and Medic’s clothes were still sitting in there. There were some other clothes in the pile. More notable ones included a thin, torn t-shirt - were those _claw marks?_ Why would somebody want to keep this? There was a pair of shorts, completely reddish-brown with blood. A dress shirt. It had to be one of Spy’s, judging by the size of it. Now, was that just a trick of the light, or was the shirt pale blue?

Sniper laughed to himself, remembering the time that Scout had dumped a pair of blue socks into the wash and caused an uproar. But the memories could wait; he had something else to attend to.

He grabbed his vest, reached into the left inner breast pocket, and retrieved the paper. It had been hastily folded but overall, it was still in decent condition. He tucked it into the pocket of the boxers. Of course, they were Medic’s and he’d have to move the note if he wanted to give the clothes back later, but that was a problem for later. He thought a silent thank-you to whoever was behind the idea of putting pockets on the boxers because they certainly came in handy.

Sniper wanted to get back to his van, or even the infirmary. He didn’t like being out and about in base in shorts and no vest. Sure, he had the hat and aviators, and they brought him comfort, it just wasn’t enough coverage. The last thing he needed was a comment about his gangly legs.

He dropped the vest back into the laundry bin, scratched the back of his head, and lingered. Before he could stop himself, he picked up Medic’s shirt and held it to his nose. Damn. Still smelled like the man.

The threat of one of his teammates walking in on him was too much. Sniper dumped the shirt back into the bin and headed out. Instead of visiting Medic again, which wouldn’t be the best idea what with Scout and Spy in the infirmary and Sniper getting kind of hard, now would be a good time to put on some clothes that actually belonged to him.

 

“You’re brooding, doc,” Demoman said. He was sitting across from Medic at his post at the desk. Demo was leaning towards his friend, supporting himself with an elbow. His hand might’ve been at his chin had it not been twirling his wand. Tiny green sparks fluttered out from the tip of it.

“I am not,” Medic muttered. He pressed so hard with his pen that a blotch of dark ink formed on the paper.

“See, there ye go again,” Demo sighed. He gestured loosely at the floor, where ink had been scrubbed off and glass had been swept away. “Is that mess the reason you’re usin’ ink you shouldn’t be usin’ to write?”

"Aodhán, please,” Medic said, setting the abused writing tool on his table.

“I can just bring you a pen. An actual pen.”

“Nein. I prefer dip pens for a reason. They can hold ink that doesn’t... Hm. Well, ink that I can rely on when I am not careless.”

Demoman did not bother pointing out that Medic had, in fact, been rather careless. He’d already seen the remains of black ink on the floor, recognized it as the kind Medic usually used in his writing. Enchanted, of course; it didn’t bleed through paper. But that was about it for the ink’s magical properties. It was still ink, and it would be a pain to scrub out of the floor tiles.

The magic ink didn’t bother Demo, because he knew his friend did a lot of writing for his job. He, too, added small touches of magic to his own life. Just small enough so there was no way it would irritate anyone and that the Administration wouldn’t care. Well, food-related magic aside, since he and Pyro had both grown to be experts in that field. But Medic? Demoman was reminded yet again that although he was very fond of the German, the problem was that his enthusiasm could be a bit much. His rashness often got in the way of his learning and practicing of magic. He was too impulsive far too often for anyone’s good.

Like right now.

“You really shouldn’ae be using that ink,” the Scotsman said, staring at the little glass bottle.

“I need to get these reports done one way or another, you know,” Medic replied drily.

“I know, but...” Demoman sighed, dropping his forearm onto the table and studying his friend. “I came here to check on you, lad. My problem is that I think you’ve been goin’ through a lot more than you’ve told me with Sniper. I told you he had a good shot at full recovery, no bad side effects, if you din’t mess with him any further.”

Medic grabbed his dip pen and clutched it so hard it might’ve snapped in two had he not been wearing his rubber gloves.

“You told me you would leave him alone.”

“I’m-”

“What was the point of lyin’ to me when you know I can jus’ _feel_ his presence, that he was here earlier? I’m not mad at you, doc... just disappointed you din’t come talk to me.”

“I’m sorry, Ao,” Medic replied, voice cracking slightly.

“Jus’ talk to me and we can sort this mess out.”

Medic let go of the pen to rub his temples. He looked distressed, and rightly so. There was so much going through his head. It was like his friend’s mention of _disappointment_ in him broke a dam, and now, guilt too long prorogued was flooding into his mind. Because of course he’d done wrong. Everyone made mistakes, sure, but damn it, damn it, if he’d only thought his actions through some more... maybe there’d be less suffering now.

“I’ve done more to him than I should’ve,” Medic said, sounding very solemn, his voice very small. He wasn’t going to bother with bringing up the lovemaking. Demoman could come to that conclusion himself, or he might not. Although _feelings_ certainly had a place in the conversation and topic, they weren’t integral in relation to what the Scot probably wanted to hear.

“If I recall correctly, I’ve already told you about the first time I had to heal him. I-I can’t even remember everything I’ve told you. I suppose it would be best to start from the beginning.”

Medic paused to remove his glasses and gloves. He rubbed his face with his hands, feeling their trails of heat on his skin.

“Back in the Badlands, when we started practicing... I managed to heed your warnings. Even you grew restless with me and my magic. I remember, more clearly than I’d like to, the night we put me to the test. I’d practiced a few times on you with no negative outcomes, so both of us decided to try casting on the next one of our teammates in the infirmary with a simple wound.

“Do you remember, too? It was Sniper. The enemy Spy had cut his arm. It was a nasty wound, bleeding a fair amount. Though it was a simple wound, he’d lost a lot of blood from something else, and he passed out. It was the perfect opportunity for me, and I’d called you over immediately. The wound had been cleaned and bandaged by the time you arrived to the infirmary to perform a full analysis on him, the first time we’ve really practiced magic on any of our teammates besides ourselves and Pyro.

“You drilled me again on the dangers of channeling and practicing on him. Magic residue builds up in the body, the mind, both, or neither, if one is fortunate. The body will naturally purge it, even going through the unnatural process of respawn.”

Medic went through the warnings like a school student reciting a list of rules.

“Although magic residue is dangerous and can interfere with future magic being used on the same individual and can interfere with the individual, it’s generally harmless if there is little. Your analysis of Sniper gave you an idea of what magic would do to him, how it would affect him, and how he could utilize it if he so chose to.”

Demoman looked like he needed a drink or some caffeine, but he was still paying attention. Of course he remembered the Badlands, and the excitement of being a teaching mage.

“Orange or scarlet, that’s his colour. In between my red and Pyro’s orange and yellow. His affinity for nature could be useful. His way with fauna, just as useful. His body is... sturdy, able to take quite a bit of magic if he had to. His mind, less so.”

Here was where Medic hesitated. Saying things out loud cemented those things. When they were just thoughts that he didn’t _really_ think through, they were loose and he didn’t have to cling to them. But now, the subconscious bits and pieces of those thoughts he’d had, they came together. Because Medic had a way with words and making things fit.

Demoman seemed to notice the shift in his attitude, though he did not comment on it as Medic continued anyway.

“You told me that if we practiced on him, he’d be able to handle a lot of magic residue in his mind and body, but if there is a lot in his mind, it would affect him. Sniper himself would not notice the change, as his consciousness would merely accept it and take it in stride, but observers would be able to notice... Like Spy. You told me very clearly, before I healed Sniper’s arm, if I fucked it up, Sniper could easily forgive me. But Spy would not. He does not forget.

“You urged me not to heal him with magic if I wasn’t prepared to deal with the fallout, no matter what fallout that may be. Good, bad, horrendous. I could not wait to start, so I healed him. It went just fine. We checked on him every so often, and the magic residue slowly faded away on its own, as we didn’t want to touch it ourselves and of course, he wouldn’t have been able to remove it.”

Medic laughed weakly. His hand twitched and he nearly motioned to make for a glass of water that wasn’t there.

“So I’ve done a bit more healing here and there since then, with only a few big injuries. Some were patched up better than others, and some treatments were executed better than others. The usage of the anaesthetic and potions with treatment, that changed things, too. We’ve both learned plenty about our brews and making them better.

“Which now brings me to more recent events here on Nightfall. After Sniper and Spy fell down the stairs, I sent Spy off with some ice. He’d been bruised, but even then, not very much. Sniper had taken most of the damage, so I thought it would be a good time to practice my healing. I put him under and I healed him. It was just that simple. I’d also given him a drink to lighten the potential aftereffects, but he did not consume any of it. Just as well, as he would end up back in my office quite soon again.”

Demoman snorted softly, hearing the infirmary being referred to as an office even though his friend’s desk took up little space in the large room. Medic looked a little forlorn.

“The battle before he was back here, I’d saved him from my opposite BLU. I don’t know what came over me, but I definitely told you about how I’d concussed him with my Medi Gun.”

Demoman smiled, replied, “Aye, doc, it sounded impressive.”

“It was,” Medic said, rubbing his face again. “After that battle, he came back. I’d been without my own brew for... too long, apparently. I lost all self-control and I-” Medic shook his head, hard, at the memories. “I healed his back wound eventually. I did so in a rather violent fashion. After that, after I’d regained my mental facilities, I wondered if I’d transferred more magic and more... feeling, than just the general healing spell? Because I didn’t put him under, he took the full force of it.”

Demoman knew his friend and he knew what that entailed. He still did not ask any questions, just hoped that Sniper had not felt sexually assaulted after that event, because Medic could be quite a bit to handle when he was out of control. Even though the German looked and sounded a little sad, Demo was sure that his friend had cleared the situation with the Sniper because although Medic’s morals could be deplorable at times, that was about _medical_ business. About his ‘profession’. In any case, Medic went on.

“Spy came to you. He purged Sniper of magic, using what you yourself taught him. Forgive me, but despite your expertise, I doubt his ability simply because he has not practiced channelling like you and I. It’s not just about working on a single spell again and again until you get it right. It’s one of the things you’ve told me many times, Ao.

‘Magic is more than learning spells. It’s about mental fortification, changing the way you think and perceive things. It’s not about breaking the rules, things like... physics, it’s about working with them in different ways that may seem to work against them but really don’t - magic is just knit into those rules. It’s about challenging yourself, refining your skill, you never stop learning it. Not just the spells, but magic itself. It becomes a part of you. There is magic in all of us, the ability to channel is within all of us. But to do it successfully, there are so many more connections to make than you think at first, there’s so much to consider...”

Within Medic’s long-winded - and accurate - explanation, Demoman saw a wistfulness in his eyes along with a familiar sparkle. His friend, who was so passionate about learning something new and exciting like magic. Something huge, life-changing. His friend the Medic, unstable, but ultimately well-meaning Medic.

That did not automatically excuse his actions, though.

“Is that it?” Demoman asked gently. He didn’t want to go on with his own two cents until Medic was done.

“Ah, nein,” Medic responded, snapping out of his reverie. He blinked a few times and looked down onto the papers on his desk, laced with his own handwriting in black and the dark-coloured ink he’d been using earlier. He didn’t only remember the Badlands and events from a few days ago, because there were events that were more recent.

“I wiped his memory.”

The doctor’s voice was hardly more than a whisper. A very dead-sounding whisper. The guilt was back in full force.

“You _what?”_ Demoman asked, now showing open horror.

“Something happened between us that I... I wasn’t sure how he’d react to. I-it was surreal. It was something I’d been utterly unprepared for despite my... ah, age, and I didn’t want him to remember because I wasn’t sure how he’d react to it afterwards.”

“And you cleared his memory?” Demo queried, his words placed down deliberately and with great care.

“I did, or at least, I made an attempt. You know it’s not a spell I’ve had the chance to _practice-”_

“That’s because it’s dangerous, doc! Not just for you, but for Sniper, too!”

“I know!” Medic cried. “I know, I know! And I did it anyway! _Ich hasse mich! Es tut mir leid!_ I’m sorry for doing that to him! He didn’t deserve it and I, I...”

“Alright, alright, I dinnae mean to push you. I’d ask you to translate what you said, but I think I get what you mean. More than that, you need to understand that bein’ impulsive is only goin’ to hurt him and hurt anyone this happens to.”

“I know, I do know, I do understand,” Medic whispered through his hands on his face.

“I want you to leave him be until I can check him over fully, doc.”

“I can do that. B-believe me, I can do that...” Medic said even as he shook all over and actually wasn’t sure if he could do that. Because he didn’t explain to Demo the emotional part of all of this... About how Sniper wasn’t his, but Medic had done things to him anyway, they’d done things to each other to maybe mark them as belonging to each other except they didn’t. They didn’t. Not really.

A low whistle sounded. Demoman and Medic’s heads turned to Scout’s cot. The runner was lying on his back. His right arm arm was draped over his stomach, nice and casual. The other was resting against the windowsill with the melting pack of ice on top of his wrist. Late afternoon sunlight streamed in from over the treetops, and Scout was facing out. Although the words came from a mouth facing the window, they were meant for his audience of two.

“Be a shame if Spy found out ‘bout all this bullshit, don’tcha think?” Scout asked, drumming his left hand’s fingers on the windowsill.

He turned to face the silent Demoman and Medic pair at the table not too far away. He was calm and there was zero sign of a threat in his voice. But when Medic made eye contact with the runner, he could’ve sworn that Scout’s gaze was piercing his being, at this weak and vulnerable moment of his. And he could’ve sworn that Scout knew everything. He was wearing a pokerface just like when he held some powerful cards in his hands and was deciding on a time to set them down on the table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \\\ I can never decide on how I want to write Demo’s accent, so I apologize for any discrepancies in his speech.
> 
> 1\. Medic is cute, sure, and I love him more than I should, but damn, if you don't think he has it in him to be scary then I don't think we're talking about the same Medic here.
> 
> 2\. Sniper is probably, _totally_ turned on by said scariness. ~~I know I am.~~
> 
> 3\. I may be focusing on Medic and Sniper, but damn me to hell and back if I will not give other characters parts in this story.


	10. Signs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took me a week before I could really get going on this chapter. But as I was writing it, I realized I wanted to fulfil a little dare I took on, so I had to work with that. //

Sniper had a headache. He was in his own bed and he found it a little funny - in a manner more bitter than amusing - that despite its familiarity to him, being a bed he’d slept in so many nights, there was an emptiness to it. Without Medic in his arms right now, he felt lonely. For the first time in a long time.

He didn’t want to get out of bed, where it was nice and pleasant, and he didn't have to think about things. The early morning sunlight was a bit of warmth in the van as it cut through cold air. Sniper inhaled and exhaled. One of his arms was dangling off the edge of his bed as he peered out a window. The sun was peeking over the horizon. Not of land, but of the evergreen canopy. The forest was foggy as it soaked in the life-giving rays.

Sniper was seized with a sudden jolt. His thoughts did not process before he fell from his bed in a heap, limbs tangled in his own blanket. His clock told him it was around six o’clock, which Sniper found peculiar. He’d gotten up at an odd time for himself. Later than he would for a forest stroll, but earlier than he would on a work day. Thankfully it wasn’t a work day anyway; it was Sunday.

So what the bloody hell was he supposed to do _now?_

A brief piss later, Sniper returned to his bed and took a seat. He scratched his head, feeling his brown hair - a mess of bedhead. When he set his hand back on the bed, there was a muffled noise. Paper, crumpling.

“Ah, hell,” he muttered to himself, picking up Medic’s sheet of notes with the little bird footprints. It was worse for wear having been folded, tucked away, and slept with, but it was intact. It made Sniper feel even lonelier, which he felt was silly. After all, he’d been the one to pull away from Medic. And Medic had not yet faulted him for that. Sniper knew that he could be as hesitant as he needed to because his thoughts and feelings were his own, damn it, but at the same time, how far could Sniper _go_ with this? Medic would have to tire of him sooner or later, wouldn’t he?

“I need air,” Sniper said to himself. The bit of natural song outside, consisting of some early birds and insects, was quieter than his words. Or maybe his words were just too loud. He didn’t want to hear himself speak and he shut his mouth.

Sniper was still wearing Medic’s RED clothes for him, but he’d already gotten up and was set to go outside. He could walk, sleep some more, then shower before breakfast or something reasonable and logical like that.

With hat, aviators, vest, gloves, and shoes on, Sniper was ready enough to tackle the outdoors. A walk, though it was later than he’d normally go for a walk, would not be out of the question now. Perhaps it would help clear his muddled thoughts.

The tree needles were still damp with the morning dew and fog. The cloud cover was thin, at least for now. When Sniper was really in the forest, the clouds and dampness hardly mattered to him. All that mattered was the serenity it granted him; a true blessing, welcomed more now than ever before.

The forest did not ask questions, because it couldn’t. All it did to Sniper now was make him feel like he could be with himself, surrounded by nature, the thick scent of pine and soil. Funny - in a less bitter manner - how Sniper had been so sick of the smell of pine before. Rosemary, really, but either way it gave him a pang of nostalgia. He didn’t want it back, because it _had_ gotten rather annoying, he merely enjoyed the memories it brought back, recent as they were.

Sniper gripped the wet bark of the nearest tree. He was slouching, partially because one of the tree’s branches was right above his head, scattering dewdrops on him. With tree trunk under his palm, Sniper’s thoughts enveloped him and he grew still.

What were his feelings, really? He certainly felt _something;_ if he didn’t, he wouldn’t have spent all that time with Medic. He wouldn’t have done anything sexual with Medic, if he didn’t feel something. There had to be something... an underlying cause, a secret trove of reasons and explanations within him.

Sniper was sure that the times he’d felt the least confused about everything would be the times they had done sexual things with each other. He’d wanted Medic, and not just for one night, either. He’d felt that blazing heat, all of that lust on multiple occasions. That was undeniable. It wasn’t just the time that Medic’s self-control had faltered; Sniper was quite sure he himself had sought Medic out at least once over the past few days... He’d be more sure if his thoughts would just straighten out. They always tripped over each other when he thought about Medic and sex. That was simply the way things tended to play out, these days.

Oh bloody fucking hell, he was _not_ going to jerk off amidst the trees at six in the damn morning. With a few deep breaths, Sniper calmed himself.

His train of thought curved. Maybe the attraction was purely sexual. That would make sense, wouldn’t it? He’d never been good at managing his feelings, so it would be logical that when he felt that need for Medic, he wouldn’t do well acting upon it.

Thinking about Medic and how he’d reciprocated gave Sniper a shot of adrenaline. With that adrenaline, he felt some nausea. The excitement was sickening.

Yes, Medic certainly felt something back. And now that Sniper had the privilege of being liked, he didn’t know what to do. There wasn’t any protocol or guide for romance or fucking or socializing or... life, really.

It required a lot of thinking and not understanding things, in Sniper’s opinion. He didn’t lie to himself that he had even the faintest idea of what he should do or think, because frankly, he didn’t know.

His hand slipped off the bark. The dampness of water was cold on his skin and he shook his hand a little before continuing his walk.

Sniper had seen the forest so many times he oriented himself with ease. He’d been in it enough, since the mercs had been transferred to Nightfall, that he dreamt about it almost every dream he had.

In his dreams, he never needed to orient himself like in real life. There was no solidity to his morning stroll when he dreamt, only the trees and sometimes the breeze.

A familiar melody whispered in his mind, echoing, its piercing cry striking his heartstrings, even.

Medic’s violin. The tune could’ve come from no other source. Sniper didn’t remember when he’d heard the song, just that he’d heard it at some point from the doctor and his instrument. For some reason, that also reminded Sniper of another scent. Not rosemary or even magic-related - to his knowledge - but from elsewhere. Sharp, yet not unpleasant, not really... It was similar to the pine, except it had to do with the violin.

Sniper wasn’t sure why he was only thinking about this now and why he never noticed it in the infirmary. Whatever Medic used to care for his violin, or the case, or perhaps the bow, Sniper linked it to the melancholy song he’d heard at some point. Maybe even more than once, now that the marksman recalled how Medic had played violin back in the Badlands, too.

With further thought, Sniper supposed the connected thoughts made sense. He thought back to when he’d help with Medic’s birds. There were periods of time he’d spend in the infirmary or around it. He and Medic didn’t always have much to talk about besides the war, so Medic took time to play the violin. In fact, it was during these practices when Medic would get so into the music that some of his birds would take the chance and escape.

Clever little things. Sniper snorted out loud at a very clear mental image of one day in particular. He’d been outside eating, enjoying the weekend’s barbecue. Medic had not been present but when two of his doves showed up, Sniper had been the one to return them. He actually walked up to the open infirmary window and knocked on the glass repeatedly, until Medic noticed his presence. He’d been sheepish as he retrieved his birds and closed the window again.

Sniper could recall a few such instances of Medic getting lost in the music. Why was it that he was only now seeing, albeit in his mind’s eye rather than his actual eyes, how... beautiful it was? How amazing it was, to see the doctor so focused, so into something?

The marksman nearly walked into a branch, one of his hands coming up to shield his face at the last moment.

Old memories were dredged up, brought to the forefront of his mind as he dusted them off. He’d spent a decent amount of time in the infirmary. Some days, after battle. All the mercs had logged quite a few hours in the doctor’s quarters over the course of the war. Sniper hadn’t been any sort of frequent patient, but he’d been there every once in a while.

He’d be healing up, or waking up from a post-healing nap, or coughing on one of the cots, when Medic would take his violin out. And he would sit down at his desk and play, his back ramrod straight, his head tilted a bit to the side.

Sniper could see this clearly now that he thought about it. As if his head was _waiting_ for him to think about all of this again.

Medic would always tend to his patients before his music. When he’d done all that there was to do, the violin came out. He had a quiet passion for it, by the looks of his playing. If not, then Sniper thought he was an excellent actor.

Sometimes he’d get up from his chair and play standing up. He didn’t walk around or anything, but there was plenty of expression in his movements. Very fluid, flowing with the music that was more often than not... melancholy. Not unlike the song now in Sniper’s head, invoking the torrential flow of thoughts about Medic and his violin.

Sniper turned to start to make his way back. His van was calling him. He shook his head to himself, chuckling a bit. For a person whom he possibly only felt physical attraction for, he sure did think about the Medic a whole lot.

Thinking about Medic himself was so much easier than thinking about _romantic_ feelings, after all. Sniper didn’t like to confront those. His subconscious chose not to, and thus, he didn’t have to worry about something as silly as romance. That would be an inconvenience; he was already so _worried_ about other matters.

 

Medic was finishing up more notes on Spy’s condition, working even though he’d just woken up at around eleven. He was doing his best not to think about Sniper. He really was. It was through fortified willpower and nothing else that allowed him to finish his notes, updating the Frenchman’s manila folder with everything. Without that willpower, Medic probably would’ve dropped his writing instrument and scoured base and around it for Sniper. That could certainly help to remove some frustrations. But the other option was locating and strangling Scout so he wouldn’t go blabbing around base about all of what was happening.

Thankfully, Medic had his willpower, and it did not fail him. He completed what he was writing and set his dip pen and inkwell away.

Fucking or not, and strangulation or not, Medic needed a damn break. He looked up. Spy was awake. He was lying down on his cot and staring at the ceiling, but he was awake. He looked very serious, even as his sleepy gaze was directed up at nothing but lights.

“I’m going to fetch some food,” Medic said to him. Spy didn’t even turn his head. “I would hope I can trust you to be alone in here,” the doctor added, as if he didn’t already know that Spy was too weak to start any real mayhem even if he wanted to.

“I await your return with bated breath,” Spy said, in a manner that was not unkind yet still painfully sarcastic.

“Don’t die of boredom while I’m gone.”

Spy closed his eyes and smiled. Even from the door, Medic thought he looked smug.

“Worry not, docteur. I am too tired now to even _think_ about dying.”

Medic had nothing to add; he knew Spy was good at taking care of himself even if he was bedridden and recovering from a great deal of things. With a glass of water at the windowsill and some fresh air blowing in, if Spy did stay awake, he’d be fine for the next little while. At least, that was how Medic justified his leaving.

Well that and the fact that he was running low on food in his own infirmary fridge. Come to think of it, the team’s pantry was likely nigh depleted, too. It had been a while since they’d driven through the bumpy path down to the closest town and store... Or maybe it had just been a long while since Medic had accompanied the others going shopping.

It didn’t really matter; there was enough left in the fridge alone for him to work with.

“Doc?”

Medic turned from the fridge to see Demoman walking up to him from the living room. Oh. Right. His friend often cooked, and it was almost noon. Thus, it was more or less lunchtime.

“Guten morgen, Demoman,” Medic replied. He made eye contact long enough so that when he returned his attention to the fridge, he would not seem impolite.

“How’re ye doin’?”

“Fine. Spy is also doing fine, I’m just going to make us lunch. Have you checked on-” Medic couldn’t finish the sentence. He choked.

“Not yet. I’m cookin’, lad.”

Medic did not state that he actually missed Sniper. And not just in his bed, but the marksman’s presence, it reassured Medic. Making him feel like, even if his heart would skip a beat or two, things could be alright. Even the tumultuous storm of emotions could be tamed sometimes. Ironic, considering the fact that Sniper was the source of ninety percent of Medic’s current emotions. Apathy excepted.

“Be nice to him,” Medic replied curtly, taking the lettuce out.

Several moments passed before he noticed the quiet, so Medic looked back over to his friend, who was still standing there.

“...Was? What is it?” Medic asked.

Demo had both his eyebrows raised. He was staring. Gawking, even, at Medic. The Scotsman gave his head a shake and said, “Nothin’. I jus’ din’t expect you to care much.”

Medic frowned, pulling a few more ingredients out of the fridge before he shut the door.

“Why wouldn’t I care?”

Demoman cocked his head, but he didn’t respond. He didn’t need to, for Medic to understand the little discrepancy in his statements.

“Listen,” Medic began, with a loud sigh. “I know I put him through a lot, but I don’t want him to have to suffer through any more. He doesn’t deserve it and he did not deserve what I myself did to him.” Besides the fucking, maybe. “Because of the nature of the magic, I doubt he’s even really aware of its effects, so you’ll need to be careful...”

“I know. Don’t worry,” Demoman responded. “I only want to figure out what’s happened with ‘im in the head.”

“I know,” Medic repeated to his friend. He stuffed his gloves in his pocket and washed his hands, then some of the vegetables he’d taken, so he could go forth and throw together two sandwiches.

The next little while, nothing needed to be said. They made food beside each other. The silence, though relatively companionable, was still filled with some tension. Mostly from Medic, if anyone was keeping track.

“I’ll talk to you when I can,” Medic said, sliding one of the sandwiches onto another plate so he had two of them.

“Aye. Tell Spy to feel better, doc.”

“I’ll ensure your sentiment is passed along.”

 

“I don’t ask a lotta questions, doc!”

“Herr Scout, do not make me kick you out of here again.”

“Hey, you didn’t kick me out the first time. I was just grabbin’ a li’l somethin’ for Spy, got it? Would’nt’a left him here with _you_ if I din’t have to get out to fetch this.”

“What, did you bring him your baseball cards? He’s _asleep,_ Scout; he doesn’t need to be entertained now.”

“No!” Scout snapped, irritated. He held up a box that was only a little blood-splattered, which was better than many other surfaces in base.

“You... wanted to play checkers with him? Did he not say he doesn’t ‘do’ checkers?”

Scout shrugged. “Figured it’d be better’n lyin’ there all night, don’tcha think?”

“Well, ja, I suppose,” Medic replied. He was indifferent to Scout’s presence now that he was sure the runner had other priorities to worry about. Namely, Spy’s boredom, which was quite the pressing topic for all. Medic supposed he was grateful, as Spy, when bored and incapacitated, could get very wordy.

Medic had spent enough time with Spy to know that there wasn’t much left about France for Spy to talk about at great length. But Scout... He was a sucker for a good story, wasn’t he? Scout always listened during Demoman’s barbecue night specials - some spooky tales, usually related to magical experiences and the like. Yes, Spy was an excellent storyteller and Scout would listen. Which meant Medic was now more or less free to do whatever he needed to do.

The thought really seemed to lift a weight off the doctor’s shoulders.

“Danke, Herr Scout. If he asks for anything, there is some food left in the fridge, along with water. Do not give him any more pills.”

Scout blinked. “Alright, whatever you say, doc.”

“Also, don’t wake him up.”

Scout groaned in mock disappointment. “Now who am I gonna play checkers with, huh? Go do whatever doctor shit you gotta do, ‘cause ya don’t look like you’re gonna stick around for long.”

Medic pursed his lips. That was true, of course. His instructions and his body language made it clear he was ready to leave the infirmary again.

“Ja, I am going to tend to other matters. You know I’m very busy as the team’s healer, Herr Scout. Which reminds me, is your... wrist any better?”

Scout had set the checkers box, and a book, on the cot next to Spy’s, the one Scout himself had used. Then he lifted the wrist in question and studied it.

“Guess it’s fine now? It hurt a lot more earlier, but the pain went away, so... It’s just kinda sore. I’ll be fine.”

Medic was sympathetic. He still felt guilty for having grabbed Scout and ‘burning’ him with heated palms. But all in all, his sympathy wasn’t needed. Scout wouldn’t have been receptive nor appreciative to it, so Medic didn’t voice what he was thinking.

“I’ll be back to check on you both in a bit.”

Scout rolled his eyes and shot the Medic a buck-toothed grin.

“Thanks, _mom.”_

Medic threw his hands in the air, muttered some disgruntled German words, and exited, shutting the door behind himself.

As he neared the dining room, where the other mercs were likely to be congregated at lunch, he heard commotion. Hardly surprising. There was always a ruckus if food was available, especially on a weekend.

There was pasta on the table. A lot of spaghetti with meatballs, but also a large bowl of ravioli. There were bottles of apple and orange juice, set down in a ring around the bowl as if they were guarding the ravioli within.

The juice bottles, despite the horrible environmental consequences, were an accepted suggestion given by Miss Pauling after she’d visited the base at a particularly bad time. The dining room had been trashed. Food was on the walls - spaghetti and meatballs, like the mercs were about to have for lunch right now - and drinks were spilled everywhere. Bits of shattered glass and ceramics added to the general mess.

Every merc had been present for that dinner. Not one of them was exempt from the shame. Pauling had lined them all up in the hallway, in order of height. She’d lectured them for quite a while, walking up and down the hallway, making eye contact with all of them as she went on about their stupid decisions of the night. It had been difficult for the REDs to explain themselves when they were all covered with pieces of dinner.

Miss Pauling reported to the Administrator Herself as soon as she’d left RED base. Just one of her suggestions had been to remove all the glass and more delicate ceramics from the cabinets. The Administration as a whole, the select few who watched over the mercs, didn’t have any reason to object. In fact, some of them found it rather funny that the group of deadly adults, professional killers, were not to be trusted with glassware.

The cups and other things were taken later that night, though not before the team cleaned up the dining room.

Now, Medic was reminded of that whole altercation. The small bottles of juice were a comical sight and he couldn’t deny that. It was quite the misfortune for all their glassware to be forcibly taken, and it made Happy Hour less enjoyable, but Medic didn’t care about that very much. Glasses were slowly being reintroduced, purchased every so often on a visit to town, and Medic had never relinquished all of his, anyway.

“Mmrm mmph!”

Medic brushed away the thoughts to see Pyro approaching him. They looked excited. Urgent, even, as they exited the kitchen. Demoman and Engineer were making amiable conversation in there. Soldier and Heavy were actually eating. If anyone had anything to say about the absences of Spy, Scout, and Sniper, they didn't say it.

“Pyro, how are you doing?” Medic asked.

Pyro gave an almost over-exaggerated shrug, their shoulders and gloved hands raising as they did so. They tapped a finger to one of their palms a few times.

Medic grimaced. “Ach, Pyro, nein. Please, I was never that good at sounding out Morse code. I know I can’t do sign language either, but do you think you can, ah, light it?”

Pyro nodded fervently. They raised their hands in a relatively open gesture, fingers apart from each other but relaxed, like tree branches. Above the palms of their hands, a bright orange and yellow light flared to life, akin to a miniature flame from a lighter.

With some finger wiggles, the light dimmed and flickered. Medic tried his best to pay attention. His brow creased.

“Follow you where?” Medic asked.

“Mmn, mmph mmrph,” Pyro replied. They took Medic by the crook of the elbow and tugged him upstairs. Medic followed.

The second floor was empty, what with all the other mercs occupied elsewhere in - or in Sniper’s case, likely just outside of - base. Pyro crossed their arms.

“What?” Medic asked, immediately put on the defensive.

“Mm _mmmn,”_ Pyro replied, sounding disappointed or maybe annoyed. They tipped their head forward and another light ball materialized in front of their mask, no hands needed. It flickered.

“I haven’t been... I haven’t been what? Slow down a little, bitte, it’s been a long while since I’ve... Oh, I see. I haven’t spoken to you in a while, have I?”

Pyro gave a nod, and the light ball bobbed up and down with their movement.

“You want me to... Talk to you? About?”

Pyro put their hands on their hips as the light flickered and they spelled it out: _’S-n-i-p-e-’_

“Scheiße,” Medic hissed. “Why do you ask about him? Did somebody say something?” He cast a few anxious looks around. First to the bedroom doors of the second floor, with most of them being closed. Then to the stairs, where somebody could be coming back up...

Pyro shook their head. With a few twirls of their fingers and flicks of their wrist, the tiny light ball zipped around in the air, leaving a glowing trail and creating familiar figures in a floating image in front of Medic’s face.

Pyro manipulated the light-figures with ease, showing the Medic figure and Sniper figure going about their regular business. Stars shot out of the Medic’s hands - magic, perhaps? Then the Pyro made them hug, or kiss; it was hard to tell with such stylized pictures, but the hearts above their heads said more than enough.

“A picture’s worth a thousand words,” Medic sighed. “What are you trying to say- ah, _show_ me?”

Pyro mumbled a reply and brought another hand up to work with the light-figures. They mashed the figures into each other, creating a shower of white sparks and making Medic recoil. Left behind in the cataclysmic meeting of visual magic was a big question mark. With a wave of their hand, Pyro made the question mark disappear.

“I... This may require some explanation,” Medic said carefully. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust the Pyro. Quite the opposite, really; Medic knew that Pyro was an individual excellent with keeping secrets and they were reliable. But he didn’t trust himself not to spill something incriminating at the worst time. After all, one of the other REDs could be heading back to their room right now.

“Come with me back to my office.”

Pyro nodded, took Medic’s arm, and they headed back downstairs.

 

Medic’s return was quiet. He noticed that Spy was still sleeping, and Scout looked like he was about to pass out, book in his hands.

“Hey,” Scout called, giving a yawn.

“Hallo,” Medic replied, ushering Pyro into the room. “Please, continue. If you go _slowly,_ I may be able to understand hand signing.”

Pyro nodded and signed, slowly, _’Did you two..._ They snorted before continuing. _’...You know?’_

Medic squinted. “What?” he asked, before signing the question as well.

Pyro tried to rephrase their words, which wasn’t easy, considering how they were using sign language.

Medic would’ve asked them to spell it out, letter by letter, had Scout not burst out laughing.

“I see you are not about to sleep,” Medic said sharply.

The runner had set his book aside and when he gathered himself, he hopped off the bed and walked up to Medic and Pyro. They were standing on one side of the examination table, and Scout rested his elbows on the other side across from them.

“Nah, doc. I was waitin’ for Spy to get up, but I can see that this is a li’l more interestin’ than my book.”

“What do you want?” Medic sighed, feeling the frustration at Scout return.

Scout raised his hands in a passive gesture. “Nothin’, just noticed you were havin’ some trouble understanding Pyro.”

“Ja, signing is not my-”

“Forté?” Scout suggested, grinning.

Medic rolled his eyes. “Using one of the ten French words you know aside, yes.”

“Hey, don’t be rude, man! Which reminds me, I’m tryin’ to help out. Pyro, can you re-sign that last thing?”

Pyro gave a shrug and did as asked, making Scout burst into laughter again.

“How is this question funny?” Medic demanded, clutching the metal surface of the examination table.

“Well, there’s this mix of slang, if I can call it that, and uh, gibberish, almost,” Scout said, snickering.

“Explain, bitte.”

“Okay, this might not be the _best_ translation, ‘cause I don’t really think what Py signed can be translated. Y’know? Well they kinda asked if ‘you two’-” He raised an eyebrow. “-Did the ‘diddly doo-woop’?”

Medic’s expression was blank. Scout lost it, pounding a bandaged fist on the table. Pyro shrugged.

“I’m sorry, what is that even supposed to mean?” Medic asked.

Pyro reached a hand over to tap Scout on the shoulder. When the runner looked up, they made more signs with their hands. Whatever they were signing didn’t help Scout stop laughing.

“This is stupid,” Medic grumbled.

“Alright, doc just... whew, that’s... wow, Py. You sure have a way with words!” Scout said.

Medic had been assuming this conversation was to be serious. Pyro could be serious, at least sometimes. It seemed with Scout in the room, now was not going to be one of those times. His face was red and he was out of breath from hysterics.

“Doc, doc, alright! Py rephrased the question and - was that a ‘d’?”

Pyro nodded, and Scout huffed. “Why’re there so many ‘d’s?” He shook his head and went on, “They asked if you did the, uh, ‘dingle dangle dance’?”

Medic slammed his hands on the table. “Those aren’t even words!” he yelled, exasperated.

“‘Dance’ is a word,” Scout pointed out, to which Pyro nodded in agreement.

“I did not come here to fool arou-”

“Doc! Please! How do you not get this? Py’s askin’ if you two _fucked!”_ Scout exclaimed, smacking Medic’s arm in a patronizing manner, not unlike the way Medic liked to be patronizing to the other REDs.

At Scout’s blunt explanation, Medic’s jaw dropped. It was rare to see the doctor in such a state, but lo and behold. Scout would’ve started laughing again had Pyro not made some more hand signs.

“Py asks if this is a bad time to ask.”

Medic gave a frown, replied, “It’s a terrible time. There are too many other factors, with Ao especially, and, and...” He made a face, an expression of disdain crossing his features. _”No,_ we didn’t fuck.”

Scout glanced at Pyro, looking curious, then to Spy’s prone form behind on the cot.

“Yeah, well doc that’s cool and all, ‘cause it’s not our business, is it, Py?”

Pyro shook their head. They signed, _’I’m sorry,’_ which was something that Medic did understand in sign language, and then they embraced the doctor, giving a warm, tight hug.

“Please, don’t apologize. I brought this upon myself. I just wish you would’ve been less convoluted with your phrasing.”

“Hey man, you know Py doesn’t sign cuss words.”

“I know, I know. But I want you, both of you, to know that I don’t want to talk about this... I don’t want to talk about... him. And if a word of this gets out to the rest of the base, I will _personally_ use you as a live test subject.”

Pyro tilted their head to the side. Scout shuddered at the thought.

“Don’t worry, I ain’t gonna tell anybody,” he promised. “Unless you think I even got anyone to tell?”

“Nein, nein,” Medic replied, waving him off. “Gehen, I need to work. Go eat lunch.”

“Guess I can grab a bite. C’mon, Py,” Scout said, linking arms with Pyro. “I’ll come back later,” Scout added.

Medic shut the door behind the two before he could lose his damn mind. His chair, his seat, was a welcome respite. A quick glimpse at Spy told him that the rogue was still fast asleep. So Medic reclined, just sitting there for a bit. Before long he was slouching and growing restless.

He would’ve liked to pull out the violin and might’ve done it had Spy not been sleeping. It would be best and safest to just let Spy sleep, so Medic did a little organizing of the papers on his desk instead.

Plenty of sheets, covered back and front in indecipherable, useless writing, were balled up and tossed into the waste basket.

“Hm. That’s odd,” the doctor murmured to himself. “I could’ve sworn I had another note sheet from the Badlands.”

Medic pulled out a few papers, written upon in umber ink and smudged a little with reddish dust. There were four sheets in Medic’s gloved hands. Where was the fifth, he wondered? Medic knew he wouldn’t have thrown it away just now; the five papers he’d kept for so long were all very distinct. They all had sketches on them, and all the text on them was written on with that same umber ink.

“Did I misplace it?” Medic asked himself out loud, flipping through papers again. A quick poke into the files of Spy and Scout showed that the paper wasn’t in either of them. Under those two manila folders... There was Sniper’s. Was it inside? Medic looked through the folder, trying not to feel upset and trying to control his emotions. He did an okay job at that. In any case, the paper wasn’t in Sniper’s folder.

The doctor cursed softly, setting all the papers and files and things back down on the desk. Great. This was what he got for leaving personal things out on the top of his desk. Everyone else was too damn nosy to be trusted.

Medic knew he’d looked over those sheets not too long ago. It had only been a few days since he’d last drowned himself in memories of the desert and its relentless heat. So who the hell could it have been?

Spy? Medic wouldn’t really doubt it, but Spy was kind of prime suspect, all things considered. Of course the rogue likely knew that whenever he was snooping in any situation, and he accounted for that. But Medic didn’t see why he’d have to do something like steal one paper from the pile.

What about Scout? That didn’t seen out of the question, but Scout didn’t have any reason to do such a thing either.

Demoman? No, no. Medic knew his best friend would never steal one of his papers. Through thick and thin, the demolitions expert had proven himself to be trustworthy. Whether the suspicion came from something innocuous or not - and this certainly was - Medic wouldn’t actually suspect the man.

Pyro, who’d just visited? No, they weren’t the best reader, be it English, German, or whatever else. Even if they wanted kindling, there was plenty of scrap in the trash bin. And even if they wanted it just to look at the pretty pictures, well, why would they take an _old_ sheet of sketches, anyway? Medic didn't draw as much nowadays but he still had better work sitting on his table.

And Soldier? Though the American was in and out of the infirmary enough for him to have seen the desk, not once had he ever taken an interest in it. His presence was only noted when he needed to be patched up.

The Engineer, perhaps? Actually, he wasn’t in Medic’s office very often. When he was, the two would be chatting nonstop. If they weren’t having a lengthy conversation, then Engineer was straight up unconscious.

Heavy? No, if the REDs couldn’t depend on a person like Heavy not to steal things, then there was nobody to trust. But as with the Engineer, when Heavy was around, he and Medic were usually in conversation, with the doctor doing most of the speaking.

And obviously, Medic’s long train of thought and mental questions looped back around to Sniper. Medic supposed he had enough reason to suspect Sniper, but at the same time, if Sniper had taken it, Medic wasn’t really sure if he’d be mad. Maybe disappointed, but this gave him a conversation topic, didn’t it? Oh yes, this theft was certainly a blessing in disguise. He could talk to Sniper with minimal repercussions from Demoman’s front. Hopefully.

“Excuses,” Medic said to himself with a prim and proper air. He sat up. “I am a gottverdammte adult, I don’t need any excuses to talk to someone.”

But even as he said it, he knew he wouldn’t go back on his word to his friend. Medic stared down at the papers on his desk, in disarray from his search for the fifth sheet of Badlands memorabilia. He refused to succumb to his impulsivity again because to do so would be unfair to Sniper. And he didn’t want to deal with the guilt of being a selfish prick, because honestly, who _would_ want to deal with that kind of a burden on their shoulders?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \\\ 1. Pyro knows all. They are actually omniscient. This is canon.  
> 2\. I do not know anything about sign language. I’m pretty sure I read a thing about how facial expressions have to do with it, but Pyro wears a mask, so just as well that I cannot add more than just ‘hand signing’. Bear with me.  
> 3\. I think Medic's musing near the end there mirrors my own far more than it should, whoops.  
> 4\. [Emmy now owes me a Phrase Of Very Very High Praise Because Wow [I] Done Did It (i.e., ‘holy shit’ followed by a hundred exclamation points counted out manually, one by one).](http://ubercharge.co.vu/post/119909134521/i-accepted-a-dare)


	11. Taunt

Early in the morning, the clouds had been thick and grey, heavy-looking. By the time all the mercs were on the battlefield, wheeling out their payload carts, the downpour had begun. It was as if, throughout the whole weekend of light drizzles, the sky had just been teasing them.

By the beginning of the round, Sniper had chosen to leave his rifle behind in favour of his Huntsman. He pulled his Chronomancer on.

“The weapon of lucky shots, oui?” Spy asked.

Sniper was slinging his quiver over his shoulder as he replied, “Yeah, but ‘s gonna be hard to snipe with all the rain. Dunno if it’ll let up anytime soon.”

“A shame your most important weapons mean you are to rely primarily on sight that the weather does not grant with eagerness.”

“You’re tellin’ me,” Sniper grumbled. When he had his quiver in place, all arrows tucked safely inside, he turned back to his friend. “You feelin’ better now?”

Spy nodded once. “The rest helped immensely, and so did Scout’s distractions. Don’t tell him I said that, though, or he’ll seek me out.”

Sniper patted Spy’s shoulder in amusement. “I know, you don’t do checkers.”

“Exactly. Now, let us get into position, mon ami. The round is about to begin.”

Sniper nodded, attaching his SMG to the left side of his belt, and his trusty kukri to the right.

The countdown heralded the round’s start, and Sniper was out immediately with most of the other REDs. Spy, cloaked, passed the group as he tended to do.

What with the miserable state of everything, most of the mercs were huddled around the cart. Demoman, Heavy, Pyro, and Sniper were helping to push the thing. Soldier, with Medic pocketing him, ventured forward. Engineer was setting up a Dispenser already, shaking his head as he was sure the round would go slower than usual thanks to the mud and water.

Scout was there for moral support, tossing his pan from one hand to the other as he yelled, “C’mon, guys! My Ma could do better’n that and she’s _pregnant.”_

“Alright, now that’s just rude, mate,” Sniper replied.

“I’m tellin’ the truth,” Scout insisted with a goofy smile.

“Rather ye go make yourself useful than compare us to your mum, lad. The BLUs should be on us anytime now,” Demoman chimed in.

“Yeah, I gotcha, I’m on it!” Scout exclaimed, darting ahead, melee weapon in his grip.

“Ach, I dunnae about that bein’ a good idea if he’s goin’ to use his pan...” Demo sighed, relinquishing his spot at the cart’s side. “I better go help ‘im out. Good luck!”

“Maybe if we ask nicely, we can get Engineer to help us,” Sniper grumbled.

Pyro and Heavy laughed. Engineer was one of the team members who helped least with pushing the cart - Spy was the other slacker on that front.

“Mrrmph mmn,” Pyro said, tapping a finger on the bomb a few times. It was hard to tell what they were trying to say with Morse code, through the rain and gunfire.

“I agree. Sniper, go hide and shoot,” Heavy said. “You are good at it.”

Sniper squinted at the two, and wondered if Heavy meant he was good at hiding or shooting. Either way, he had no argument against that; his cart-pushing skills were hardly notable. So he nodded and peeled away from the small group to locate a suitable place to shoot from.

The cart had made its way up the slope, so Sniper huddled the wall by where the cart had first been deployed. Of course, if he was hit or shot at, there was the very real possibility he’d go tumbling down, but there weren’t many better spots in the vicinity he wanted to perch at. On the slope, beside the rails, he was shielded from most of the rain, and he was able to nock an arrow in peace.

Scout had relinquished his melee weapon in favour of his scattergun, which he was currently wielding. The BLU Demoman was chasing him, popping out grenades without a care in the world. Scout weaved and ducked and jumped around, spitting out the occasional taunt.

Sniper pulled back the bow’s string, and shot. As soon as the arrow was launched, he knew his aim was off. It had been a while since he’d used the Huntsman, so he wasn’t too upset when it landed in the BLU’s arm instead of his head.

The miss mattered less than the ensuing teamwork; Scout finished him off and yelled a quick thank-you before running towards enemy territory.

There was a distant series of explosions - four, to be exact - followed by a great deal of shouting. Before Sniper was even done with scanning the area for enemies who might’ve been emerging from the various entrances on the field, Medic slid out from the left path to the BLU side of the field. Apparently the soles of his boots were great for sliding on the slippery, wet wood, because he made it look easy.

He was splattered in blood, or bleeding, and covered in bits of shrapnel, though everything was washing off of him what with the rain. His Medi Gun was tucked under an arm, locked in position so the beam was still connected to its target.

With an angry shout, Demoman was flung backwards. Sniper frowned, because hadn’t the Soldier been the one to go out with Medic? Maybe he was killed by those explosions?

Sniper considered grabbing another arrow, in case the two were being pursued and all. They probably were; wherever Medics went, trouble and violence tended to follow. So he slid another arrow into place and drew it back.

True to his fast-thinking prediction, the enemy’s own combo - BLU Medic and Soldier - showed themselves. That explained why Demoman had been thrown so far. It was probably from one of their explosives.

It was Loch ‘n’ Load versus Liberty Launcher. With their overheal, both the Soldier and Demo were able to take quite a few hits. Shots were made at the Medics and missed, hitting the pockets instead.

“Almost charged!” BLU Medic called. Maybe to deter the REDs, who, to their credit and courage, did not back down. The BLU hadn’t been lying; seconds later, a familiar crackle and glow came from his gun. The advantage was clearly had, until Sniper released his arrow. He pierced the enemy Medic’s neck, even pinning him to the wooden wall in the process.

The Soldier turned to see the source of his healer’s death waving at him. He was distracted for long enough so that Demoman could knock him out with an almost empty brown bottle of alcohol.

Even from the less than perfect view he had, Sniper could see Medic watching him before looking away quickly and urging Demo to push forward, probably because they could seize the chance while Heavy and Pyro were still on the cart, getting through mid point.

“Oh, that was a nice shot.”

Sniper turned at the sound of the familiar voice, about to say thanks to his friend, when he noticed the scent in the air. It was too strong to be washed out by the rain. His nose wrinkled.

“Spy,” he spat, motioning for his kukri. The sudden press of a knife’s blade against his forearm stopped him.

“Bushman,” the BLU Spy retorted, mocking his tone. “How was your weekend?”

“Fine,” Sniper said. His voice was strained because the knife had been removed from his arm and now it was at his throat. “Yours?”

The Spy seemed to contemplate the question for a bit. “It was alright,” he said. “I visited the town, I had a drink, and I bought more cigarettes.”

“...Why are you tellin’ me this, exactly?”

“Because it is dry here.”

Sniper looked up, though there wasn’t much to see past the brim of his hat. Still he was aware it was dry where he’d been sniping.

“So you’re gonna talk to me ‘til, what?”

“Until I am bored of you.”

“And when’ll that be, spook?”

The Spy tapped his chin with a finger. “About now,” he said, his cigarette bobbing as he spoke.

“Wait, wha- _fuck!”_ Sniper hissed. The knife had been removed from his throat with one slick gesture, but the end of the cigarette was pressed to the back of his neck, effectively burning him. He stumbled up the slope and crashed onto the damp earth.

“Let us make this interesting, bushman,” Spy teased. Sniper heard a faint click. “Fight me.”

The marksman was clutching dirt in grass in his ungloved hand. With his left, he took hold of his SMG. When he turned to see Spy pointing an Ambassador at him, he was ready.

A look of shock sparked in the BLU’s eyes. He dropped the gun and threw himself down as Sniper opened fire, scattering his magazine of bullets in front of him and missing every single one.

“Your reflexes are not as dull as I was expecting,” Spy taunted, retrieving his balisong as he got back up.

Sniper let the SMG fall to the ground, and instead he wielded his kukri. Sometimes, some days, he wasn’t going to be the one to back down from a melee fight.

He made a slash, and Spy sidestepped with ease, and followed Sniper’s next attack with a swift parry.

“Try a little harder for me, bushman,” Spy said, twirling his knife.

“Oi, is now really the time?”

“I like to play with my food, have you not noticed?”

Sniper replied with a look of disgust. If Spy was trying to rile him up, it was working. The marksman, in turn, did want to see red blooming on his blue pinstripe suit. It was a beautiful sight, the blossoming of blood, hastened by the rainfall. When Sniper was angry, he craved the sight. It was almost as satisfying as a headshot.

The BLU threw his knife as Sniper tried to get up, nicking his arm. His non-dominant left arm, thankfully.

“Not the smartest move,” Sniper commented, glancing at the knife sticking in the dirt, then back at the irritated Spy.

He slashed with his kukri. Faster than the marksman could react, Spy dipped down and punched Sniper’s knee none too gently.

“Bastard!” Sniper growled, stepping back away from the downhill slope.

Spy snatched his knife from the earth’s embrace and stood up again.

“Try again?” he purred.

Sniper could feel the rain, cold - but it felt better than the heat of anger and frustration. He slashed, and Spy dodged the attack that had been meant for his abdomen. Alas, the rogue made the mistake of hopping to his right; the wall was to his side now. Spy’s right arm - holding his knife - lifted... And was promptly pinned to the wall with a quick jab of the kukri, cutting through fabric and sinking into the wood.

Before Spy could tear his sleeve free, Sniper punched him in the face. The BLU’s cigarette fell and he went tumbling down the slope, and might’ve fallen further than halfway had he not gone and clutched the dirt with a desperate gloved hand.

“Better,” Sniper said, tapping the end of his kukri with a finger. He flicked the scrap of deep blue fabric off the tip, and it fluttered down to land on the damp earth.

Spy watched its trail through the rainy air. His face was throbbing and he could feel blood running from his nose, but he wasn’t _dead._ So the battle wasn’t over. His muscles tensed.

Sniper sliced. Had the powerful strike landed, Spy would be dead. But he would not be so easily caught; he’d rolled a little ways back up the slope. His suit was muddy and he was damp in the stupid rain and yet he still refused to give up.

“Bloody _hell,_ spook,” Sniper groaned, reorienting himself as Spy made to stand again.

Sniper slashed and his attack was blocked. He was starting to wonder where the hell his other teammates were and why they weren’t helping out.

Spy wiped the blood off his nose. It smeared on his suit. He stepped away from the covered slope and out into the rain. The big rock was by his side, and though there was a bottle of health pills in front of it and next to the rails, Spy didn’t try to cloak or escape. He wanted to see this fight to its end.

It ended a lot faster than he anticipated.

Spy was ready for at least a few other parries, but Sniper’s attack actually made contact for once in the damn skirmish. The marksman smirked as Spy scrambled backwards, blood pouring from his wounded wrist. It looked much less severe than it probably felt, because the rain was still going and rinsing some of the blood away.

The scene was bleak. Both of the mercs were breathing heavily, beat up, covered in a fair share of dirt. The faraway gunfire and explosions were nothing compared to the rain and their tunnel vision, tunnel hearing, even. There was nothing to listen to but the rain and each other’s insults.

Sniper had one ready. “So are you gonna die easily?” He cocked his head and the grip on his kukri’s handle was white-knuckled. “Or are you gonna try an’ fight me some more? A proper shame you can’t even stand up straight.”

The rogue spat - half blood, half saliva - onto the grassy, muddy ground beneath.

“Kill me,” he snarled as his nosebleed worsened. “If you can.”

“Gladly,” Sniper replied.

He was unable to follow through with the threat, as an arrow found its home in his chest, between two ribs. Puncturing a lung.

“Bloody fuckin’ hell,” Sniper gasped, falling to his knees.

Spy might’ve finished him off had a second arrow not landed in the marksman, on the other side of his ribcage.

Of course, each arrow had one distinct blue fletch. It seemed that the BLU Sniper was also using his Huntsman, the bow that depended on little more than luck. And across the mid point, in the rain, he was waving.

 

“‘M gonna run ‘im through myself when I see ‘im. Both of ‘em.”

Sniper’s words were menacing. The faint nausea from respawn was fading away, but Scout, at his side, was still making a curious expression.

“Was it that bad?” the runner asked, looking through his locker.

“Yeah. It was pretty bad,” Sniper admitted. He dumped his kukri in his own locker in favour of his serrated wooden shiv instead.

“Well then you betta get goin’. We’re prob’ly gonna make the final push as soon as I run over, ‘cause, y’know, I’m _me.”_

Sniper nodded in acknowledgement. “I’ll be there in a bit.” He watched Scout go, pondering why he’d stayed to chat in the first place. It was rare for Scout to linger in respawn for any amount of time, no matter how tired he was. But Sniper could worry about that later; he had BLUs to kill.

Outside, the rainfall was still going steadily. He passed the ruins of Engineer’s Dispenser, which suggested that the BLU Spy had gotten to it before the Texan could save it. A shame, though not too big a deal as the fray had been pushed up anyway.

When the marksman reached mid, he felt a rush of energy swirling inside and around him. Sniper turned to see Medic, filled with tension as he aimed the Quick-fix over.

“Hey, doc,” Sniper greeted, tipping his hat.

Medic looked like he wanted to say something. A lot of things. Instead of speaking, he nodded, relinquished his eye contact. There was a blast behind the two and Soldier came trotting up to Medic’s side.

“Just giving him a buff, Herr Soldier,” Medic said, shifting the beam.

“Right. Keep up the good work, cupcake!” was Soldier’s reply.

Medic resisted the urge to laugh at the sight of Sniper’s dripping wet glare of annoyance, made gloomier in the rain.

“Let’s go,” the German said instead, bracing himself. Soldier grabbed him by the waist and, with a well-aimed rocket, sent them flying up.

Sniper, had he the chance to respond, wouldn’t have had much to say anyway. Although the Quick-fix allowed Medic’s healing beam to help him follow the target better, he didn’t need to be held during a rocket jump. Sniper found that silly. Then again, maybe that was for convenience? The doctor wasn’t exactly built to land from a jump.

Sniper shook his head, shaking droplets of water around him. He kept on walking closer up to where he’d be able to snipe, trying to wipe the disgruntled feelings and thoughts away with the relentless precipitation. It took him a few moments to place the emotion he was feeling exactly, but when he did, he couldn’t deny it. He was _jealous._

“Back for a second try?”

Sniper’s shiv was out and swinging before he even responded to the BLU Spy, who stepped back smartly.

“I am tired. Unlike _you,_ I did not just go through respawn. Make this quick, bushman. I did not come here to play games.”

Sniper rolled his eyes. His blade made solid contact with Spy’s chest, ripping through the suit and dress shirt underneath, grazing his skin hard enough for blood to come out.

“Mon dieu,” Spy hissed, annoyed he’d been hit so soon. But he was not about to let an opportunity slip; while the marksman was still in close proximity, he reached his arm over Sniper’s shoulder, aimed his knife, and stabbed.

Sniper’s outcry was loud even through the pounding rain. He flung Spy and his arm off of himself, and pulled the knife out of his deltoid. It had pierced rather deep, but it did not kill him. It just meant that his left arm was out of commission.

While Spy was reaching for his Ambassador in his suit, Sniper kicked him. First to the shin, then he planted his foot in the rogue’s abdominals, effectively knocking him to the dirt.

“Prick,” Sniper growled, raising his shiv for the killing blow.

Spy was clutching his torso with one arm. He whipped out his engraved revolver with the other, pointing it shakily at Sniper’s head.

“Think fast,” Spy choked. He fired and didn’t make a headshot.

The bullet wound was a horrific sight in Sniper’s arm, but he looked so calm after the shot that it was eerie. Unsettling.

Spy’s arm was quivering and dropped from the gun’s recoil. He looked up, blinking frequently to get the damn rain out of his eyes.

“Wait,” Spy said, his voice a pained croak. “Why are you smiling?”

“Because you’ve lost,” Sniper replied with his toothy grin.

He thrust the Tribalman’s Shiv downwards with so much force that it _ripped_ the BLU Spy’s dying scream out of his throat. Sniper pulled the blood-dripping blade out of Spy’s cadaver before he made his way for the pills behind the big rock that the two had fought close to earlier.

He didn’t bother being cautious now when he could see the enemy Spy’s Cloak and Dagger strapped around his wrist. There was no Dead Ringer threat, so the marksman continued his merry way up to the front lines.

He only got the chance to fire half his quiver of arrows - one red fletch on each, of course - before the round was over. The detonation of the payload reverberated and he collapsed in the little shack-like room he’d been shooting from.

It was the same room he’d been in not too long ago, in the battle against the BLU Heavy in particular. When he’d jumped out the window to help Medic and the doctor had popped his charge to help give them the win.

Now, Medic was still present after the explosion, his cape fluttering from the force of the blast. Soldier was likely being patched together by respawn at the moment as he did enjoy being there to help push the cart to the end. But Medic...

Sniper got up, gripping the wooden walls for some support. He saw Medic drop his Quick-fix in favour of his Übersaw, visibly shining red even through the rain and gloom.

“Did that sting?” the Medic yelled from inside BLU base. _"Saw-_ ry!”

Sniper rolled his eyes at the awful pun. It was bad, but it was also endearing.

“An easy round, I trust?”

A shiver ran up the marksman’s spine. He immediately adopted an alert stance, but saw that it was the RED Spy, not the BLU.

“Yeah,” Sniper replied, relaxing. “Coulda been easier, I s’pose, but all in all not too bad.”

More yelling, now in German, came from BLU base.

“Herr Spy!” Medic called, emerging from the doorway. His eyes were blazing with red fire. “I fetched you a body! A living one this time, I swear. Get over here.”

“Wait just a moment, docteur,” Spy replied from Sniper’s perch. The Frenchman reached into his suit jacket, perhaps for his revolver.

“Lemme go, you crazy fuck! Lemme go, _lemme go!”_ the BLU Scout screamed as he thrashed in the Medic’s grip.

Spy pulled out his disguise kit, and from that, produced a silver lighter. “Here,” he said, looking up to Sniper.

“I don’t smoke,” Sniper grunted.

Spy raised an eyebrow as he cupped a gloved hand around the end of his cigarette before lighting it.

“I wasn’t offering you a cigarette, Robin. I was offering you the last kill before panic mode is over and we move on to the next round.”

“...Oh. Okay,” Sniper said, shrugging a shoulder. He jumped out the window and landed with no more than a medium amount of pain in his legs after.

“Doc,” he said, tipping his slouch hat.

“Did Spy offer you the kill?”

“Of course.”

“Make it good.”

The BLU Scout caterwauled in frustration. “I’m right freakin’ here! Shit-eating bastards!” His arms were held behind his back by Medic, but his legs were free so he attempted a kick. His attempt didn’t go so well; Medic reacted faster than he did, kicking the back of the BLU’s knees. He dropped to the ground, cursing.

“Like I said,” Medic continued, making eye contact with Sniper. His eyes were still cold colours, as cool as his voice, but the red killstreak fire made him look so much scarier. “Make it a good kill.”

Sniper cocked his head, and retrieved a single arrow. “Don’t I always?” he scoffed, backing up a bit.

Medic smiled. “Ja.”

“Okay, hold ‘im up, will you?”

Medic adjusted his hold on the BLU Scout and hoisted him up to make him an easier target.

 _Here goes nothing,_ Sniper thought. It had been a while since he’d done this, but there was little that satisfied him more in battle than a taunt kill.

He twirled the arrow behind him - “Aw, freakin’ shit no!” the Scout cried - plunged it forward - “Stab, stab stab,” Sniper muttered - and yanked it back out.

When Medic let go, the Scout’s body dropped. He was very dead.

Back in the perch Sniper had chosen, Spy was laughing to himself. Lamenting the fact that he, too, could’ve gotten a taunt kill with his fencing, but at the same time finding it gratifying to see Sniper perform his taunt kill right there to see.

The final round end and the end of panic mode was announced. It was time to head to stage two of the map.

The Support trio walked there together, speaking little, but appreciating the harmonic silence nonetheless. The rain made up for the words that weren’t required to make the moment any better. There was a sense of comfort, camaraderie, among them, even as Medic’s insides twisted themselves into knots and he was choking on anxiety.

 

“What’s _in_ this?” Spy asked, prodding at the contents of his bowl with a spoon.

Sniper had cooked a pot of stew. More than the two of them could eat, actually; the pot was fairly large and still half-full. There were bits of vegetables and leftover meat chunks floating within. To Sniper’s credit, he’d worked with what he’d had, and served the unimpressive dish to Spy on one of the respawn benches.

Though he was aware he could go out and shoot something in the forest for fresh meat, or maybe pick some edible plants if he was lucky enough to recognize any in the alpine region, he’d chosen to stay around RED respawn with most of his team. Sniper shivered. Wandering out during the lunchtime ceasefire didn’t _always_ end badly, just often enough to deter him from doing so. Thus, Spy had to deal with what little food there was in RED base.

“Vegetables and some meat,” Sniper replied.

At least Engineer had been kind enough to drive from respawn to base to grab some food for those who didn’t bring a lunch or forgot, like Scout often did.

The runner was munching on a celery stick and carrot when he approached Sniper and Spy.

“Uh, aren’tcha gonna eat?” Sniper asked.

“I _am_ eatin’. Not all of us can cook a meal, if I can call your stew a meal, in ten minutes.”

“So you’re havin’ rabbit food?” Sniper laughed.

“Apt, considering how much you resemble the animal,” Spy added.

“Hey, can it, you fruity French fuck.”

“I will _cut-”_

“Hey, c’mon. Tryin’ to eat here,” Sniper said, shoving an arm between the two. “You can have some, Scout. ‘Cept I don’t have any more bowls, so y’oughta share with Spy.”

“Aw, man, can’t I just eat from the pot or somethin’?”

“No.”

“I am not sharing with him,” Spy groused.

Sniper gulped down the rest of his lunch. It was remarkable how little he had to chew on it as it went down. He tossed his bowl to Scout.

“Knock yourself out, ‘m going to clean my arrow.”

“Haha, by arrow did you mean-”

“No.”

“You’re no fun,” Scout grumbled, scooping stew into the bowl.

“Don’t leave me with him!” Spy exclaimed, getting up.

“Hey, I cooked so you have to clean up, mate.”

Spy opened his mouth to respond, but he really didn’t have a reasonable comeback to that point. So he sat back down, and Sniper left him hoping that he’d be able to deal with Scout’s presence.

When he exited respawn, quiver over his shoulder, he noticed that the downpour had not lightened, but it hadn’t gotten any heavier either. Things could be worse.

“Hey, Stretch! You eat yet?” Engineer called. He was sitting under the shade of some contraption of his own making, no doubt, serving as an umbrella of sorts. It sprouted from his toolbox, and it resembled an umbrella one might see at an outdoors restaurant or on a backyard porch. The man was eating with Pyro and Demoman, it seemed.

“Yeah, I made some stew. Have a good lunch,” Sniper said, eager to get away.

Pyro’s head was cocked and Demoman had looked like he was napping, but when the firebug mumbled something, his head tipped up. Maybe he wasn’t napping after all.

“Thanks, pardner,” was Engineer’s reply.

Sometimes it amused Sniper when his Southern drawl really showed. Then it occurred to him that the other mercs probably found his Australian accent amusing, and there were times they made it obvious. Scout in particular was a frequent culprit of accent comments, to which the other mercs were eager to reply with a half-joking mimic of his Boston accent. The memories of such instances made Sniper snort as he searched for a suitable spot to clean his weapons. Not too far from respawn, in case BLU had any shenanigans up their sleeve, but isolated enough so he felt like he could be alone.

A little ways into the forest, Sniper stopped and decided he could take refuge there. He breathed deeply. The pine scent, the coolness, the rain, the feel of a tree trunk to his back, it all enveloped him until he felt that familiar serenity settle over him.

He took his quiver off and started to inspect each arrow, using the hunting knife in his Choronomancer pocket to sharpen the tips of some of them, or even out the feathery fletches. He found the arrow he’d used for the taunt kill on the BLU Scout, that Medic and Spy had so kindly allowed him to have.

It was awash with crimson, though the rain dripping through the pine needles was removing the blood. Sniper wiped it against his trousers a few times, smearing them with trails of red.

“Ironic that you are cleaning one item by dirtying another.”

Sniper tensed, and looked up. Medic. RED Medic, thank the Administration. Or maybe one of the Spies, but...

“I don’t like going out to shoot with bloody arrows, doc,” Sniper replied, shrugging.

“Can’t you just take a cloth with you for this purpose?” Medic asked, the corner of his mouth twitching.

Sniper pursed his lips as he thought about it. “S’pose I could,” he said, watching Medic carefully.

The doctor looked uncomfortable, out of place. The forest was dripping cold water around him. He was white and red - from both uniform dictation and from blood - amidst muted greens and browns. The way he was standing was so stiff, and he didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands when his Medi Gun was holstered to his backpack.

“What brings you here?” Sniper asked, sliding the more or less clean arrow back into the canister.

Medic froze, a look of panic flaring in his eyes. “I- can’t I go and talk to one of my teammates on break?” he asked weakly, despite his attempt at humour.

“Yeah, of course you can,” Sniper replied warmly. His voice lowered as he added, “Now tell me what you really came here for.”

Medic stammered a something that may or may not have been actual English. He looked so flustered that Sniper might’ve been more worried had the sight not been so damn cute. A bit pitiful, too, if he was going to be honest. It was rare that Medic was at a loss for words, much less _flustered._

“I just wanted to talk to you,” he finally said, sounding quiet.

He did not add what was in his thoughts: _I miss you for some reason. I miss you._

Sniper looked a little thrown off by that, but he refused to lose his cool.

“Then come talk to me, doc.”

Medic shuffled closer like a nervous deer might approach a hunter.

“Doc, is something the matter?”

“Nein.”

Sniper slung his quiver back over his shoulder and stepped up to Medic, close enough so that a proper conversation could ensue. To the gunman’s open shock, Medic _flinched._

“What happened?” Sniper asked. The question was quiet but fierce. Purposeful.

“Nothing _happened,_ per se... I-” Medic grimaced.

_I want you back in my bed. Right now. You and me, doors locked._

“-How was your day?” Medic asked instead, interjecting himself.

“Earlier the BLU Sniper _bodyshot_ me when I was in a melee battle with the Spy.”

“Oh, yes.” Medic nodded thoughtfully. “I think I remember that. He was rather proud of himself afterwards.”

“Yeah... we’re competitive like that. He usually waves after killin’ me, too.”

“Don’t worry, I got him back.”

“Great, did you go with Demo and blow ‘im up?"

Medic shook his head. _”I_ got him back,” he repeated.

“Wait... how?”

Medic grinned, looking a lot less nervous now. “I Spinal Tapped him for his sins.”

“Oh! Oh, no,” Sniper gasped. At the thought of Medic tauntkilling his opposite, he couldn’t help but laugh his loud bark of a laugh.

“I couldn’t help it! He was alone and standing still, I was one kill away from a killstreak... The BLU Spy got me afterwards, but it had been worth it.” Medic explained as he, too, laughed, recalling the moment.

“Well thanks, mate,” Sniper said, smiling.

“It was nothing, really,” Medic replied bashfully, looking to the side.

He was blushing and that made Sniper want to kiss him.

So he did.

Medic was caught off guard, feeling cold wetness, feeling Sniper turn his head with a hand and press against his back with the other hand.

“Really, Robin, all for one kill?” Medic asked, face red.

“Nah. I just wanted to do that.”

“Then do it again,” Medic murmured, leaning in again and tasting the marksman’s tongue with glee.

The moment did not last long. Medic could practically _sense_ Demo’s stare of disapproval from wherever the Scot was. So he pulled away. Demoman still had to check on Sniper’s condition, after all. How could Medic be willing to tamper with that at all? His hands burned, heat pouring through the rubber gloves.

“Tell me something, Robin.”

“What?”

“Tell me... what is it that you... feel...?”

Medic’s throat locked and he couldn’t elaborate on his sentence. Not that he needed to; the look on Sniper’s face made it clear he understood.

“‘M sorry, doc,” Sniper said, wincing. “I don’t know. I’ll... have to get back to you on that.”

Medic’s gaze flickered down to the earth, green blades of grass and tiny plant shoots sprouting through the deep brown, muddy soil.

“I will wait for your answer.”

And because Sniper had nothing to say to that, Medic turned and headed back out of the forest, leaving a conflicted marksman behind in the rain. Thinking about his feelings, his own feelings that he didn’t comprehend enough for him to put into words.

“I promise,” Sniper murmured, watching the doctor’s silhouette emerge from the trees, back out to RED respawn.

“I’ll tell you when I figure it out m’self.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \\\ 1. The Huntsman’s arrows do not have team-coloured fletches on their model. This is an artistic liberty.  
> 2\. The sweet moment Medic and Sniper share is nice, yes, but remember this: it is shared over a _kill._ I wanted to make it clear that one should never underestimate the underlying ruthlessness of these mercenaries. They are plenty capable of being nice, but they are _all_ also able to murder repeatedly without a second thought. It’s why they are such good mercenaries, and I mean, killing is just their lives now, isn’t it?


	12. Truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'S been a while, hasn't it.
> 
> 1\. [It rained 'today'.](http://ubercharge.co.vu/post/120817449131/it-rained-today)  
> 2\. Emmy, whenever you read this, know that I'm sorry, _mein liebling._ //

The sky was grey with clouds lingering overhead, but not threatening rain. Sniper was standing on mid point. He could hear gunfire and explosions echoing, again and again from far away, all around him. It was puzzling when there wasn’t a single merc, RED or BLU, in sight. He couldn’t even hear any voices. No talking, no shouting.

It him alone under the early morning, bow in hand, kicking at dew-laden grass blades and railroad tracks for the teams’ payloads. He felt clammy, but he didn’t feel that the air was cold. It was just him.

“Herr Sniper.”

Sniper turned to see Medic behind him, holding a... a stick, maybe? No, his violin bow - in a hand. He wasn’t wearing his coat or gloves, and he wasn’t carrying a medigun though he had a backpack on.

“What’re you doin’ here, doc? You should be up front.”

Medic cocked his head and smirked. Then his face fell and he looked down.

“I was looking for you,” he said.

“Me? Why?”

Medic made eye contact and stepped up to him. Sniper didn’t back up but he tightened the grip on his bow.

“Because,” Medic began, voice softening. He rested his empty hand against the small of Sniper’s back. His arms tensed.

“Hey, doc, your eyes-”

Before he could finish the sentence, an arm was brought up from each party. It was bow against violin bow, curved wood scraping against straight wood and horse hairs.

Medic laughed, not quite maniacal like he got sometimes, and not kind, gentle laughter like Sniper had gotten to know recently. No, he sounded smug.

“You must know him very well to be able to tell the difference between our eyes when we both have blue eyes.”

The doctor’s voice was a mocking growl, his accent dancing between hints of German and French.

The bows pressed against each other. Spy disguised as Medic hopped back and whipped his arm forward. Sniper blocked the blow. The sky flickered white - lightning, perhaps - and darkened considerably.

“Arse,” Sniper hissed.

“Oh, Herr Sniper,” Spy said, mimicking Medic’s voice again with ease. He backed up and tapped the bow to his chin in a thoughtful gesture that the RED doctor himself could very well be seen doing.

“You can’t fight me, can you?”

Sniper spat to the side. He reached for an arrow but he found he didn’t even have his quiver on, causing panic to flare in him.

“Shut up,” was his only comeback.

The Spy-Medic walked right up to him. Sniper froze and felt like he might snap the bow in two due to how hard he was holding it.

The clouds cleared with a single breeze to reveal deep cerulean bleeding into star-speckled black. Trails of orange, of scarlet, faded into the treeline.

Sniper didn’t need the light to see. Yes, that was Medic, wasn’t it? Even though his eyes were more blue than pale grey, the way he was pressing the tip of the bow to his stubbly cheek... He was close enough so Sniper could practically taste his breath and-

“You act like you are the stoic type. The loner. But in the face of one whom you love, you are nothing but _weakness.”_

The bow had been thrust into him so forcefully that it pierced his chest. And if that wasn’t enough, it went straight through his heart. Oh, how cliché, just like what the Frenchman would do. 

Spy removed it with a flourish. Blood splattered and Sniper choked. His eyes closed and when he opened them again, outlines of his surroundings, of Spy-Medic’s boots, etched themselves into his gaze in green.

Sniper was hunched over, clutching himself, feeling his head spin as his life literally bled out of him. Warm blood growing hot rushed out of his wound, slipping between his fingers and hissing upon contact with the cool earth below.

Spy brought a leg up to stomp down on Sniper’s back, bringing him to his knees. The throb of the impact hit Sniper hard like a bruise had already been blooming there, right where Spy stepped.

His vision blurred but the green was still there. He shut his eyes again, not wanting to see the person standing in front of him. Speaking in Medic’s voice, but with so much venom it hurt, it was a physical ache far worse than what was in his chest or back. His stomach churned and eyes stung. The green outline of grass and dirt and boots, it was almost out of sight. Everything was pitch black and glowing night vision green.

“So this... this was nice,” Spy said before laughing in a manner that could be described as little more than cruel.

The next words to float into his ears were faint as he slipped away.

“You love him, don’t you?”

 

Sniper woke in a cold sweat, panting and clutching his bare chest. He could feel his heart pounding so hard it was making him sick. But there was no wound from a violin bow. Even his back felt fine, which one could consider a miracle of its own at his age.

“Fuck,” Sniper sobbed, pressing a cold palm to his face. The tears had stopped as soon as he’d awoken, but his throat felt sore and he was shaking in his bed, in a tangle of blanket and sheets.

The clock read _4:57._

Sniper rubbed his eyes roughly.

 _Why am I lying to myself? BLU Spy, in my dream, that’s not_ him, _that’s me. My thoughts coming out of his mouth, not anybody else’s. Why am I lying to myself about how I feel?_

He splashed his face with some cold water.

_As if my stupid dreams know how I feel. Not like they told me shit eight months ago when I had all those dreams back then._

Sniper placed the night vision goggles on along with his Chronomancer. Sudden anxiety seized him and he wrestled with his own van door before finally opening it and throwing himself outside. It was chilly.

“‘S been awhile, hasn’t it?” he asked.

The forest was quiet. Asleep, like he had been, though his rest had been far more fitful. The ground was very muddy from the day’s rain, which hadn’t let up for the whole battle. The pine needles were dripping wet but Sniper didn’t mind. The anxiety started easing up.

Now, words were irrelevant. Useless. Sniper wouldn’t need his sight if it weren't for the possibility of getting lost. He simply relished the fresh air, occasionally reaching out to feel trunk or branches or needles at his fingertips.

He didn’t need to think about his dreams. But thoughts would come, whether they were about dreams or not.

Yesterday’s battles had resulted in a BLU win. Sniper had been in a sour mood by the last round because BLU Spy had been dominating him. Many backstabs and a few revolver kills, probably to blame for his Spy-related dream... hmph.

Sniper coughed, gripping wet bark. His head hurt and he wanted to vomit. His heart fluttered as fear clawed at it. Why? Why, why, why, why...

He groaned and slid down. Everything hurt, everything was sore and in pain and, and...

“‘S not fair, is it. Nothing’s really fair, is it,” Sniper mumbled for nobody but himself to hear. “Nothing’s really fair.”

The glasses slid off his face and the world was completely black again.

“Feelings ain’t fair, are they? Feelings are proper confusing, and I dunno what to do with m’self. Dunno what to do with the doc, or with...”

Sniper coughed again.

“Doesn’t make any fuckin’ sense. Nothing does. Bloody fuckin’ feelings never make sense and that doesn’t help me any, does it?”

He pounded his fist to the tree.

“Why’s my bloody head hurt so much?!”

Branches quivered and water droplets fell on his head, making him shiver more. He wasn’t wearing his hat, and all of a sudden, Sniper felt very vulnerable. Without further musing, he picked the glasses up, wiped the mud off the frame, and put them back on.

It was time to head back.

 

Sniper was into the battle yet at the same time he was a million miles away. His thoughts rang elsewhere, until he was brought back to reality.

“Sniper.”

The marksman nodded and tipped his hat to the Demoman. “G’day,” he greeted. “Doin’ alright?”

“Aye, lad,” he said, sounding casual and nodding back. “Got a few kills earlier, even sliced the head offa Spy so he won’t be botherin’ ya,” Demo chuckled.

“Thanks mate, ‘ppreciate it,” Sniper replied. He’d managed not to flinch at the mention of Spy. Even though he’d slept after returning from his forest walk, the dream had not left his memory.

“How’ve you been feelin’?” Demo asked as Sniper wiped his scope.

It was foggy out, though not raining. Despite the limited visibility from afar, Sniper hadn’t wanted to take his Huntsman out again thanks to that damn dream.

“Alright, I guess,” Sniper responded. He thought about the dream. Nightmare, really. He thought about yesterday morning, when he’d gone and kissed Medic. He thought about yesterday _afternoon,_ when Spy had been stabbing him over and over again, and Medic had done well avoiding him.

“Alright,” Sniper repeated.

“Jus’ alright?” Demo asked, raising an eyebrow. He set his Grenade Launcher on the wooden windowsill that Sniper had been shooting from.

“Yeah, guess so,” Sniper said, shrugging.

“Talk t’ me, Sniper.”

Sniper drummed his fingers along the rifle barrel. “What’s there to say?”

Demoman studied his fingers, replied, “I dunnae what you have to say, but it must be somethin’ interesting.”

Sniper got a laugh out of that, though he sounded a little bitter. “Really don’t agree there, mate.”

Demo adjusted his eyepatch. “Then how ‘bout this, let me check over you. Not like, ah, the doc would, but for magic.”

Sniper nearly dropped the goddamn rifle. “What?” he asked, more startled than confused.

“You’ve had to go through a lot of magic blastin’ your head, aye? And you haven’t let Py or myself check over you. Magic isn’t a game or a toy, Sniper. It has serious consequences.”

Sniper patted the Scot’s shoulder. “You sober?”

Demoman brushed his hand off. _”Aye,_ I’m sober. Sort of. But tha’snae my point. The doc can’t check over you; he doesn’t know enough about magic to do this. So you should let me.”

Sniper grimaced, and asked, “‘S it gonna hurt?”

“Nah, shouldn’t even feel a thing. Maybe a tingle.”

“...Alright. Guess I don’t have much of a choice. Wait, right now?”

“No time like the present, is there?”

“Go for it, then.”

“Stand still.”

Sniper did as he was told, standing still. He held onto his rifle just for a little bit of comfort to get him through whatever he was about to experience. Sure, it wasn’t supposed to hurt, but he wasn’t exactly prepared for a... magic test. A few stray bullets peppered the wall beside the window. The outside wall, fortunately; neither of the REDs were hit.

A warm tingle rushed through him from head to toe, as Demo had said would happen.

“Hm,” Demoman said, squinting his eye.

“What?” Sniper asked, returning the scope to his aviators’ lens.

“Nah, it’s... nothin’ I gotta tell you about. Don’t worry.”

Sniper frowned, but he didn’t pull back from the gun.

“You sure?” he asked.

“Aye. I’ll come talk to you if I need to. Good luck!”

Sniper scoffed, said, “I don’t need luck to snipe well, but thanks. You too.”

Demoman grabbed his Grenade Launcher, saluted, and made his way back out into the thick of the fray, where the gunfire and explosions were naturally at their loudest. Sniper was left at his perch feeling confused, though he knew there wasn’t time to dwell on that during battle.

He saw Scout zip past, running even faster than usual. Heading back to the RED side of the field, but why? Sniper would’ve called out to him had he not been sprinting away.

“The hell?” he muttered to himself, gripping his gun.

“Salut.”

Sniper recoiled at the voice to see Spy uncloak next to him. RED Spy, thankfully.

“Christ, mate! Give me a bloody heart attack, why don’tcha? What’s happenin’ with Scout runnin’ back?”

Spy smirked, but he didn’t look pleased. “To quote him when we crossed paths earlier, ‘That slimy little shit’s backcappin’ again!’ I assume he was referring to his BLU opposite.”

Sniper tried not to laugh at Spy’s half-mimic of Scout’s voice.

“Should we help ‘em defend?”

“Engineer is down and most of the others are on the front lines. We should help.”

“Dunno what you and I are gonna be able to do, but hey,” Sniper said, shrugging.

Spy smiled, cloaked, and headed out. Sniper was right behind him, or at least more or less behind him, with Spy being invisible and all.

Engineer’s corpse was lying beside a heap of smoking metal - from his broken Sentry, by the looks of it. Pyro’s body was beside him. Demoman was still up front for sure, along with Soldier, unless the two were going to explosive-jump back. Heavy had likely been on the cart. Medic should’ve been tailing the three.

Sniper ducked into the tunnel. He didn’t like the second stage of Nightfall with its tunnel; it made him feel enclosed. He emerged from the other side, and took cover behind the dump truck filled with dirt. He never understood the yellow trucks on both the RED and BLU sides of the map, and why they were yellow, and why they were filled with dirt.

Once, Scout discovered that the keys were still in the ignition, and took it for a joy ride. He knocked over some of the wooden planks stacked beside the wheels before driving it straight into a wall.

The truck was back in its rightful position now, though, parked next to the fence beside respawn and the wooden planks that were never used to build anything.

Sniper took position so he could see between the fence and the truck, and more importantly, snipe between the fence and the truck.

The BLU payload was pretty close to its destination. Both the Scout's were engaged in a very intense fight with each other, shooting with their respective primary guns. The BLU had his stock Scattergun with him, and made a lot of jumps, but the RED had more speed on his side with the Baby Face’s Blaster.

Just as well; it was hard to shoot a running Scout in the first place. Adding _more_ speed on top of that was a nightmare. Jumping, though? It was easier to track the path of anyone jumping than on the ground running. Sniper took the scope to his aviator lens, and tried his best to aim. Neither Scout had noticed him yet, though they did have plenty of choice expletives for each other.

A familiar and very recognizable sound made the hairs on Sniper’s neck raise. Not the Dead Ringer’s loud decloak, but _fwoosh_ from a flamethrower. In this case, the BLU Pyro’s. They were arriving from where the cart’s rails led, from one of the larger wooden shacks that couldn’t be considered a shack at all.

Scout yelped loudly as a solid shot peppered his thigh with bullets.

Spy uncloaked next to the BLU Scout, knife in hand. Sniper groaned inwardly, wondering if his friend had seen the BLU Pyro or if he’d just chosen to show himself at such an inopportune time.

To distract the Pyro from his friend, Sniper hit them with a bodyshot. He wasn’t even scoped in, but he did the trick - the Pyro swivelled to deal with him. Before they came around the truck, Sniper had his SMG out and was ready to fire. He backed up as Pyro approached, their Flamethrower’s blaze getting far too close for comfort. Sniper downed them before his magazine was spent. He sighed in relief as he reloaded the weapon.

A loud scream on the other side of the fence marked one of the Scouts’ deaths. Which one? Sniper glanced to see another RED corpse, and a triumphant BLU Scout pinning Spy to the ground. Great.

Before Sniper could even take aim, the BLU splattered blood and gore with a shot to the head. The Scout threw himself against the payload. Sniper cursed his inability to climb fences or even wedge himself between fence and truck. He took aim, but the Scout wasn’t even deterred. He flipped Sniper off.

“Cheeky li’l wank.”

An explosion startled Sniper into missing, but it came from behind him, not in front.

Soldier, with Medic wielding the Quick-Fix on his _back._ Sniper might’ve laughed at the arrangement had the situation not been so... dire. Soldier landed on the pile of dirt on the truck, and Medic hopped off of him neatly. They both looked pretty beat up.

“Not today, fuckheads!” BLU Scout yelled.

That did not make Soldier happy. He whipped out his Equalizer, disconnecting Medic’s healing beam from him, and jumped off the truck.

“Herr Soldier, _nein!”_ Medic yelled.

But it was too late. The payload detonated before Soldier’s feet hit the ground, and its blast blew Sniper and Medic back, taking their weapons from them.

“Pissin’ hell,” Sniper muttered, feeling pebbles cut into his ungloved palm.

“Herr Sniper,” Medic called. He was on the ground and making no attempt to get up.

“Yeah?” Sniper asked.

Medic groaned.

“Same,” Sniper replied, peering at the doctor beside him. He took Medic’s hand to help him up.

“We might’ve been able to save that if Soldier wasn’t such a dummkopf!”

“I know, doc.”

“Come with me,” Medic said, eyes blazing as he pulled Sniper over to the tunnel.

“‘S a proper awful place to be, in the damn cave,” Sniper said, reluctantly allowing himself to be dragged over.

As soon as they were under the cover of relative darkness, Medic shoved him to the wall and kissed him, fierce, with purpose. Then he backed off and stomped down the tunnel, leaving Sniper shaking a little but very turned on.

 

Spy was in the infirmary again with Medic watching over him. He’d pulled a chair up to Spy’s cot, and he had his clipboard in a hand.

“How many times did you go through respawn today?” Medic asked. He looked worried.

“A few...”

“Jacques, I told you to take your Dead Ringer and to be extra careful.”

“I did,” Spy mumbled, rubbing his forehead. “And I was.”

“How many times, Jacques?”

“Eleven.”

Medic shook his head and muttered profanity in German before writing a note down.

“That explains why you needed to come back here.”

“Can’t you give me painkillers?”

“I don’t know what they’d do against a magic... fever... headache, and negative side effects are very likely.”

“It’s worth the risk. This headache is going to kill me.”

Medic was grave as he replied, “For your sake, you’d better hope it doesn’t. If you have to go through respawn again, I am certain your headache will worsen.”

“So now what, docteur?”

“Rest and drink water. Your body has to purge this naturally. The process would be easier had you not gone and drank alcohol, but it’s too late to change that now.”

“I would really like those painkillers.”

“Nein,” Medic snapped. His voice softened. “I care about you, Jacques.”

“Alright, I get it,” Spy sighed, pulling the blanket over himself. He still had his suit on and buttoned, but at least he’d taken the shoes off. “You don’t have to make me uncomfortable to shut me up.”

“What do you mean?” Medic asked with a frown.

Spy turned over on the bed to face the window and away from his caretaker.

“Only Robin can call me by my name.”

Medic didn’t have anything to say to that. He finished with his notes on Spy, writing down that Spy was to rest and have water, before he placed clipboard back on his desk. The paper went into Spy’s manila folder, the dip pen into the inkwell, and everything was neat and tidy again.

“Rest well,” Medic said quietly.

Spy, though his words had been rather uninviting, was grateful Medic was treating him well. That meaning Medic was not showing off his sadistic nature. It had been an oddly mellow week for the doctor, from what Spy saw - panic mode melee kills excepted, of course. Spy was sure it was because of Sniper. The details, he didn’t want to ask about. But to be in the infirmary and have Medic show no ill will towards him? Spy thought he was rather fortunate. After all, he _had_ been involved in the questioning of Medic about Sniper...

Various thoughts of his teammates flitted about Spy’s mind as he drifted off. It was better than dwelling on the physical pain.

 

Sniper was napping. He knew Spy was resting in the medbay. He knew Spy had complained, for most of the afternoon, about his mounting headache. But as much as he wanted to visit, he couldn’t will himself to do so.

Medic had given him the cold shoulder for the rest of the battle after he’d kissed Sniper. And Sniper didn’t understand _why._ He was filled with longing and sadness. So as a ‘solution’, he tried to take a nap, but his Medic-related thoughts drifted, and his hard-on did not permit him to sleep. After he got off, he managed to fall asleep.

It would’ve been too easy to mope around all evening.

What didn’t help was that, when he woke up again, he was immediately reminded of Medic’s paper under his pillow. He slipped it out and stared at it until he wasn’t reading the words but just looking at them. Medic had beautiful - albeit messy - handwriting. Sniper’s gut twisted into knots as he set the paper back down on his bed.

“This is bullshit,” he said out loud. The words were firm, though less so with his groggy, post-nap voice.

 _I should just go talk to him. He’ll understand, won’t he? Two words, ‘s all I gotta say to him. ‘It’s physical’. That’s it,_ Sniper thought, rubbing his temple with two fingers.

So many interactions with the Medic had been physical, right? Sniper clutched his blanket. He’d wanted to head over to base for dinner, but there it was, another boner. Not helpful. Sniper wasn’t even wearing any pants or underwear because he’d been napping. It was difficult not to give into the temptation just to rub one out again.

He kind of missed Medic’s standard RED clothes, even though he had his own set somewhere in his closet at base. But his outfit didn’t smell like Medic, or at least, not the infirmary.

Sniper mustered up enough willpower to dress without aggravating his more carnal needs, and by the time he was striding through the hallways, his boner had gone and he wasn’t thinking about Medic anymore.

“Snipes! Where’ve you been?”

Of course Scout was the first to greet him, pacing the hallway.

“I had a nap,” Sniper grunted.

“Oh, okay. Did’ja know Spy’s in the infirmary? You should prob’ly go visit him ‘cause he’ll be sad if you don’t.”

Sniper snorted at the thought. “He won’t be sad if I don’t visit him. In fact, if I do, he might yell at me for having the _audacity_ to disturb his sleep.”

Scout gave a low whistle, replied, “Big word.”

“Yeah. Spy taught it to me,” Sniper said with an eye roll.

“Fruity prick’s got a lotta words up his sleeve, don’t he?”

Sniper decided to change the topic; he didn’t want to think about Spy being in the infirmary because Medic was probably in there, too.

“Aren’tcha going to have dinner?” he asked.

“It’s not done yet. Dunno what Demo and Py are doing in there, but they kicked me outta the kitchen, so... I’ve been waitin’ around ‘til they’ve finished cooking,” Scout replied with a slight shrug.

“Then why don’t you visit the infirmary? Wait ‘til Spy wakes up?” Sniper suggested. He knew how Scout got bored easily - it often resulted in some _interesting_ things happening.

“S’pose I could. But the doc told me earlier when I visited to leave Spy alone,” Scout said. He shook his head ruefully. “He looked so freakin’ tired I didn’t wanna bother. Heh, for once.”

“Tired?” Sniper asked. “Why’s that?”

“Dunno, but I’ll take a stab at it - pun intended - and guess it’s got to do with how he’s carin’ for Spy right now.”

“That was a bloody awful pun and you know it. But yeah, okay, y’know what, that makes sense.”

 _“Geez,_ Snipes.”

“Shut it, you li’l ankle-biter. I just woke up from a nap.”

“Man, don’t call me that. I’m an adult too! Bastard,” Scout retorted, his chest puffing out. In his eyes was a challenge that Sniper didn’t feel like entertaining.

“Ey, boyo!”

Sniper and Scout turned to the kitchen. Demo was standing out the entrance, peering at the two.

“Make that _boyos,”_ he corrected, chuckling to himself. “Dinner’s ready, so go take a seat.”

Scout’s tension dissolved and he nodded, even saluted to Demo. Without another word to Sniper, he headed into the dining room. Sniper had little more to do than follow him.

Everyone but Spy and Medic was present as Demo and Pyro set dishes on the table. Soldier was napping on his seat, but Demo was poking him awake. Engineer and Heavy were heaving a serious-sounding conversation that Sniper had zero chance of being able to follow. Intellectual shit, he figured.

By the time the REDs were digging in, Sniper was missing Spy and even Medic. He was so deep in thought that he had to be called several times in the conversation.

“Right, Snipes? Snipes. Hey, Snipes!”

“What? What is it?” Sniper asked, turning to Scout.

“Tell him!” Scout exclaimed, jutting his chin towards the Engineer, who was shaking his head and huffing.

“Tell ‘im what?”

“That I can fit _at least_ ten birds in my jacket!”

“I don’t believe him,” Soldier chimed in.

Scout smacked his arm and turned back to Sniper, asked, “You remember, don’tcha?”

Sniper remembered. Once, back in the Badlands, Medic’s birds had gotten excited, and thus, were uncontrollable. They were flying all over the infirmary. Scout had been there as a patient, along with a very panicked Medic.

Sniper had been summoned from his van by Scout, who’d been forced to run over with a bleeding chest cavity, only semi-patched up. It had been no small feat for either party. Sniper did not enjoy being woken up, and Scout was coughing up blood.

Naturally, Sniper had rounded the birds up, albeit with some effort. Scout had been wearing his jacket dubbed the Track Terrorizer. Sniper berated the runner for having spilled birdseed on himself.

As half-solution and half-punishment, Sniper forced Scout to hold the birds in his jacket. They were eager to stay in there, sedated by the scent of blood from Scout’s wound and by the birdseed still stuck to the lining of his jacket.

“Thank you, Herr Sniper. Thank you so much. Danke, I owe you,” Medic had said.

“‘S all good. ‘M goin’ back to bed now.”

“Yes, ja, of course. Sleep well, guten nacht. Danke. Thank you again.”

Sniper was brought back to the present by the fingers snapping in front of his face. Fingers attached to a bandaged hand.

“Snipes, c’mon, please! You gotta vouch for me!”

“Yeah, yeah... Fit just about all of doc’s birds in that jacket, mate. More than ten, actually.”

 _”Told_ you, Truckie! You guys never believe me.”

“You’ll have to forgive them. The story was a bit far-fetched despite being the truth, after all.”

Heads turned to see Medic standing at the dining room entrance.

“C’mon, doc,” Scout groused. “Don’t be like that.”

Medic waved Scout off. “Where is Demoman?” he asked coldly.

There was silence.

“Oh, please,” Medic snapped. “I know he was cooking. How is it possible that all of you were present and he wasn’t accounted for at the table?”

“Busy eating,” Soldier replied with his mouth full.

“Mmrph,” Pyro mumbled, thrusting a finger forward to point to the kitchen and nearly whacking Engineer’s nose with the gesture.

“Excellent,” Medic muttered. “Danke, Herr Pyro.”

Sniper glanced up to make eye contact with Medic for a moment. Half a moment. A second of eye contact and he was rendered weak. _Vulnerable._

Medic turned to make his way across the hall.

“‘M gonna head back out now,” he said, standing.

“Now hold on just a second, Stretch. You haven’t even finished your meal,” Engineer said.

“Not hungry. Soldier can have it.”

“Hah!” Soldier said victoriously. He gave Sniper a dutiful nod and grabbed the plate from across the table.

“Ow, don’t elbow me!” Scout exclaimed.

“G’night,” Sniper said, tipping his hat before leaving. He exited base slouching, feeling nauseous, and with a tongue tasting like sawdust. As soon as the marksman was back in his own bed, he shook his head and laughed. He couldn’t even remember what he’d been eating for dinner just then, but he could remember every word that came out of Medic’s mouth.

 

“How was dinner preparation?” Medic asked, leaning his back against the counter.

On the counter across from him, Demoman was shoving his Earbuds into a pants pocket.

“Fine, doc. You’d know if you ate with us... or them, this time,” he said, tipping a thumb in the direction of the dining room on the other side of the hallway, filled with clamour.

Medic shook his head, gripped the edge of the counter with gloved hands.

“I eat on my own time. Why are _you_ not eating now? You did help cook, after all. Don’t you wish to reap the fruits of your efforts?”

Demo crossed his arms and adopted an almost grave expression.

“Not really hungry at the moment. Besides, I didn’ae want to have to stop eatin’ to go and talk with you.”

Medic squinted at his friend. “You were listening to music when I got here.” His words turned teasing. “Too good to listen for my arrival?”

“Hey,” Demo said firmly, holding a palm out to stop the Medic. “I knew you’d be comin’ here. I had no reason to go visit _you_ in the infirmary.”

“Then let’s cut to the chase, mein Freund.”

“Agreed. Talk to me.”

Medic’s fingers drummed against the countertop. He turned to the dining room where most of their teammates were enjoying dinner.

“How is he doing?” Medic asked. His breaths shook a little.

“How’d you know I checked on him today?”

“Aodhán please,” Medic said, quirking a smile. “I keep track of just about _everything_ that happens in battle. Don’t ever underestimate me.”

Demoman grinned. “I wouldn’ae dare,” he said, before his grin faded. “Doc. He’s not doin’ well.”

Medic’s head spun. “What do you mean by that?”

“He’s in a fragile state.”

“Ah, _fick,”_ Medic breathed, rubbing his temples. “What do we do now? What do _I_ do? This is my fault, I know...”

“Stay calm,” Demo responded.

“Danke,” Medic said, trying to sound sarcastic through the suffocating haze of guilt.

“Keep an eye on him. He’ll be fine if you let ‘im recover. Let the effects work themselves out of his system, aye?”

Medic nodded slowly, head in his hands. Demo clapped a hand on his shoulder. Medic didn’t remove his own hands from his face, but he did have a question to ask.

“How do you wear that hat when you cook? In battle is one thing, but...”

Demoman grunted. “My toque? Keeps the hair out of the food.”

“Mm,” Medic replied with a nod. He took a deep breath, added, “I should get back to Spy in case he wakes up.”

“Aye, go do that.”

“And _you_ go eat.” Before Demo could even think about protesting the command, Medic added, “Doctor’s orders.”

 

Spy was awake and he was brooding. A storm cloud hovering over his head would’ve completed the effect.

“What’s the matter, Herr Spy?” Medic asked as he adjusted Spy’s pillow supporting his lower back. “You really should be resting, you know.”

Spy gave a bitter laugh. “Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you, docteur?”

Medic gritted his teeth as a sudden anger hit him.

“What are you implying? Do you not want your headache to go away?”

Spy was quiet for a moment, glaring out the window beside his cot even though it was partially covered by the blinds. In a flash, his muscles tensed and he had a tight grip on Medic’s tie, yanking his head forward.

When Spy turned to face him, his glare was ice.

“Mindreading,” he said. His voice was level even though his hand quivered. Likely from being sore or weak thanks to the fever and headache.

“What are you talking about?” Medic demanded, holding back the very real urge to throw Spy to the floor. Or better yet, just break both of his wrists.

“I learned how. On my own, for the most part,” Spy said, his tone becoming casual though his gaze was still cold.

Medic’s eyes widened. “No-”

“Oui. Did you mean to keep it a secret from me _forever?_ Did you think I wouldn’t find out, Wilhelm?!” Spy yelled.

“Please,” Medic whispered.

“How dare you? You don’t even know how to do a memory wipe, and, and... You thought Robin would be a suitable test subject? You’re... you... _tu est un connard.”_

"Je _sais!”_ Medic cried. “I know, Spy, I know. I had no right to do that. To do anything.”

“Luckily for you, I could only reach so far. Do I want to know more of what you fucking did to him? I’m pretty sure if I knew, I’d have to fucking _strangle_ you.”

Medic’s eyes stung. He knew Spy wouldn’t be this aggressive and blunt without the fever-headache. But that didn’t mean his words carried any less weight. The guilt had been eating at Medic; no wonder Spy caught him dwelling on that event. It wasn’t long ago, and although some time had passed since Medic and Sniper got drunk together, the memories were still fresh in Medic’s brain.

Well, that was a luxury Sniper wouldn’t have, wasn't it?

“I’m sorry,” Medic insisted, shaking his head.

Spy let go of Medic’s tie. And punched him. He missed Medic’s face, but hit his neck square-on.

“Spy, wait!” Medic said. He coughed hard. “Don’t strain yourself! If you’re only running on adrenaline now, you’ll-”

Spy threw himself onto Medic, who staggered backwards and fell to the floor with the Frenchman straddling him.

“Spy, please-”

Medic’s plea fell on deaf ears and was interrupted by the hands gripping his esophagus and cutting off his air supply.

“People aren’t your fucking toys!” Spy snarled. _”Especially_ not Sniper, you sick, sick fuck.”

Even through the disadvantage of having less oxygen going to his head, Medic knew that Spy couldn’t fight like his usual self now. He was being driven by instinct and rage. Obviously, the fever-headache didn’t help him any.

Medic had the chance to reach into one of his pockets, clipped to his belt. He was choking and resisting the desire to panic as the fringes of his vision blurred. He worked his fingers, and with one well-aimed jab, sank the needle into Spy’s arm.

“Clever,” Spy managed to say before slumping off of the doctor.

“I’m sorry, Spy. Es tut mir leid," Medic gasped, getting up onto his knees.

With great care, he slid Spy back onto his cot.

“Forgive me,” Medic murmured.

He watched the rise and fall of Spy’s chest before closing his eyes. The contents of that needle would likely keep Spy knocked out for the whole night, at least. Medic wondered if Spy would remember anything later, and if he’d feel any remorse for his actions and words. Medic rubbed his sore neck.

He’d been utterly unable to hit Spy, to actually fight back, because... he deserved what he got. He’d only been able to stop Spy upon making the realization that Spy could very well worsen his condition if he put his energy and will into attacking Medic.

“It is my fault, though,” Medic mused, sitting down at his messy desk. “How could I assume that I wouldn’t receive _something_ for what I did to Sniper? Sniper himself may not care, but Spy... Spy actually knows about the ramifications of my gottverdammt actions! My choice to clear Sniper’s memory, I must take full responsibility for.”

Medic groaned softly. If taking full responsibility also meant getting choked by Spy, then fine. He’d take it. He’d take anything if it meant he deserved it - and that was a great many things. Certainly, Sniper hadn’t deserved a memory wipe without having been asked first.

Medic clawed at the dark, heavy wood, though he had no effect on it; his hands were gloved.

Sniper would forgive him... Especially if it involved a lay, right? No, even before that. The marksman was aloof but he was also kind.

Medic had to admit that was one of Sniper’s qualities that made him so appealing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \\\ 1. If you asked me to describe this fic in a song or two, it’d be the two used in [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=36-rzTA1B00) frag video. (separate: [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YDzeQQTY8vc) and [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HudqNpGoaG4))  
> 2\. If you asked me to describe this fic in _several_ songs, well, good thing I made [an 8tracks playlist for it.](http://8tracks.com/djsckatzen/weglaufen) Reblog it [here](http://kittekissen.tumblr.com/post/121394628385/weglaufen-playlist-of-songs-that).  
>  3\. My pre-emptive apology at the beginning of this chapter for Emmy was because I used a phrase I'd told her I might use (Spy-Medic's "so this was nice") based on something she said to me on our first conversation. Except she hadn’t said it with any ill intentions like dream-Spy did. Hence, the apology.


	13. Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> writin chapters late @ night in my notebook is great and all but like i stayed up til 5am by accident too so i think i need to stop //

There was tension. Tension so thick that Medic could hardly breathe. Frankly, his neck was still aching, and that didn’t help him breathe, either. Things would be a little easier if it was just him and the unconscious Spy, but now that dinnertime was over, he had company.

 _”FUCKING FIX HIM!”_ Scout yelled.

“I can only do so much, Herr Scout,” Medic replied. His voice was even, but only just. He was doing his best to keep himself calm.

“You owe me one, remember?” Scout growled, shooting the doctor a hard glare. “I had to clean up this motherfucker’s blood and gore when _Demo_ was the one who freakin’ blew him up. You fuckin’ owe me a favour, and I’m gonna cash it in now. Fix him. Whatever it fuckin’ takes. This is _your_ fault.”

“I know,” Medic said, looking down at Spy’s limp, prone form on the examination table. People looked less like people under the stark white lighting he had hooked up. They were less human and more ‘patient’. Or even less than that.

“It’s not fuckin’ fair,” Scout said, sounding bitter. “He din’t even do nothin’ wrong.”

“I will do my best, Herr Scout.”

“You fuckin’ better.”

Medic closed his eyes, feeling the cold of the table’s metal surface against his palms before his inner heat burned through and he went to put his red gloves on.

“I will,” Medic repeated, sounding firm. He turned to Scout at his side. “Now get out.”

“You can’t just kick me outta here-”

“Yes I can. I’m the doctor, and I am telling you to get out and leave me be. I cannot concentrate with you in here.”

Scout glared at him but he allowed himself to be led out the door.

“Fine, but I’m comin’ back later. Don’t make me bring Snipes.”

Medic’s eyes widened. He shut the door behind Scout and cursed in German. Was that... was that a _threat?_ Did Scout just threaten him with Sniper’s presence? The possibility of Sniper’s presence, at least? Bullshit.

“Bullshit!” Medic hissed out loud.

Of course, it worked, didn’t it?

He pulled a chair up to the table and set his clipboard down. Now was the time to really get down to work. He’d ask for Demo’s help but it was likely the Scot was still eating because he ate a lot. Either way, though he was knowledgeable about magic, he couldn’t help much with Spy’s physical state otherwise. Science as far as the rest of humanity was concerned? No, Demoman didn’t deal with that unless it was explosives-related chemistry. Medic was alone, and Spy’s recovery rested solely on his shoulders.

Exhilarating.

To be in charge of a life! Well, not _in charge,_ per se, but... Spy’s well-being was Medic’s responsibility. And technically, the well-being of the rest of his teammates? Also his responsibility. Just not at the moment, because at the moment, he had to tend to Spy.

Medic fiddled with the Medi Gun rig, shifting it to a low setting before aiming it at his patient. He looked so peaceful, as if he was sleeping. Or dead. Medic took note of that.

He often spent long hours alone, whether he was caring for a patient or not. Medic had a habit of busying himself, of making work even when there wasn’t really any work to make. It was certainly easier than dealing with his own life.

He didn’t like to think about his own life, and the various events that he’d instigated. Like earlier today in battle, when he’d grabbed Sniper and kissed him. He’d wanted to, of course, but it had also been out of anger and frustration pertaining to... everything. Soldier’s horrible choice before the payload detonation, the fact Medic couldn’t patch Spy up with his Medi Gun or magic, having to stay away from Sniper as per Demoman’s instructions...

“Wait,” Medic said.

Demo had checked over Sniper. That meant Medic didn’t have to stay away from him any longer. But... Medic wasn’t sure if he’d be able to approach the marksman, especially not with Spy under his care. And after what Spy said, it had thrown Medic right back into the painful, bitter guilt spiral.

“I should come clean,” Medic sighed, rubbing the side of his neck. “He’d appreciate honesty, wouldn’t he? The truth is still the truth days later, after all.”

But now was not the time to think about that! Spy needed him. In a relatively literal sense. Otherwise, Spy would be content to keep Medic far, far away from himself and from magic-addled Sniper. And Medic knew that was justified. He didn’t hold it against Spy, and though he had the perfect opportunity to _experiment_ on Spy, he couldn’t do it.

“I’m sorry I hurt him, and I’m sorry I hurt you,” Medic said to Spy’s limp form. He was admitting it now because he would never be able to say it to Spy’s face if he was conscious.

 

Sniper had a headache. It was kind of ironic, considering Spy was in the infirmary for that very issue.

“Bloody hell,” Sniper muttered.

He was splayed out on his bed, long limbs bent to fit in the small space. On the bright side, he wasn’t hungry since he just ate dinner. Even if he was hungry, he wouldn’t have been able to muster up the will or energy to go back to base for food, or cook for himself.

Maybe he could just sleep now and wake up real early tomorrow. He glanced at his clock, which told him it was only a quarter to nine. Great.

It was a bit too early to go to sleep, no matter his age. So Sniper rolled out of bed, almost falling to the floor of his van, and put his clothes back on. His uniform, actually - just without the vest. It was casual enough. He could hit up Medic for painkillers and... maybe something more.

Back in base, Sniper was stopped by the rec room. Scout, Demoman, Engineer, and Heavy were playing poker, with Pyro flipping channels on the television. Drinks were scattered around the room, along with cups and one piece of glassware. Of course there was only one; the REDs weren’t allowed to have them.

“Hey there, Stretch,” Engineer called.

Sniper nodded. “How was dinner?”

“You were there, no?” Heavy asked, frowning.

Sniper didn’t have an answer for that because it was true. He’d been present at dinner. Half of it, at least. “Yeah, guess so. How’s the game going?” he asked instead, to change the subject.

“I’m winnin’!” Scout bragged. “By the way, I raise.” He threw a few beat-up poker chips in the pot and took a swig of his drink. Domestic beer.

“Nah, I think Heavy’s winning,” Engineer pointed out.

“Whatever, ‘least I’m not losin’,” Scout said.

“That would be me,” Demoman sighed, folding his cards.

“Sounds great,” Sniper said. He occasionally participated in the poker games, but he wasn’t any good at it. “Do any of you have painkillers?” he asked. Maybe he wouldn’t have to go all the way to Medic...

The poker party stopped, froze for a moment.

“Nah,” Scout said, wiping his mouth with the back of his bandaged hand. “Doc’s stopped lettin’ me cheek ‘em to save for later, remember?”

“Sniper, you know he locks them up,” Engineer said, peering at the marksman. “None of us are allowed to have ‘em in base, and I’m sure the most _we_ have is a secret supply of alcohol.”

“Not a secret with Demoman,” Heavy said, to which Demo cried out in protest.

 _”Anyway,”_ Engineer interjected. “If you need a Tylenol, you’re gonna have to see the doc about it.” He chuckled. “Don’t let ‘im drug you and poke at your organs, alright, Stretch?”

A week ago, that kind of comment would’ve drawn a shudder out of Sniper at the thought of Medic cutting him open. Easily, it would’ve. Now, he wondered if Medic would take offence... No, probably not; he didn’t have a habit of getting offended at tasteless comments about himself.

“Alright,” was all Sniper had to say. “Guess I’ll go see him.”

“By the way,” Scout added. “I was s’posed to visit him, ‘cept I didn’t wanna come back after earlier and... uh...”

Sniper cocked his head, and assumed Scout meant he’d wanted to visit Spy, not Medic, who did not appreciate guests.

“What, you want me to tell ‘im sorry for what came outta your mouth?” Sniper asked, rolling his eyes.

Scout looked sheepish. “Yeah, ‘cause I dunno if he’s in a bad mood now, or whatever.”

It was not Sniper’s job to placate Medic, but he couldn’t turn that down. Everyone was assuming he’d be visiting the medbay, so he’d have to be there.

“See you guys later. Don’t get too drunk,” Sniper said, giving a parting wave to the group.

A few steps down the hall, he heard Scout holler, “Aw, c’mon, Heavy! I thought you were bluffin’!” Sniper shook his head and chuckled. His teammates all had their peculiar quirks, but he liked them, didn’t he?

And Medic. _His_ peculiar quirks, well, he was one of the goddamn weirdest. Far too eager to desecrate corpses and commit unorthodox sins. Sniper huffed to himself. Medic had become one of the ones he liked the most, though. ‘Liking’ in a different way than with everyone else, but still...

He stopped outside the door. It was closed. That didn’t deter Sniper; the door was closed about half the time, anyway. He knocked before trying the handle. He didn’t really _need_ to, because the door was never locked.

_Click._

Hm. Almost never.

“Hey doc!” Sniper called. “You in there? I don’t mean to bother, but I’d kinda like some painkillers... got a wicked headache, ‘s no fun.”

The lack of reply wasn’t discouraging so much as it was disconcerting.

“Medic!” Sniper yelled, knocking a little harder.

Great, what if something happened? What if Medic locked his door but then ended up hurting himself? And now, he was unable to get to the door or ask for help?

Sniper banged on the door, jigging both door handles but to no avail.

“Medic, c’mon! You have all the painkillers and you know that! This isn’t funny...”

Still no response. No sound of commotion nor footsteps within, either. Sniper took to pacing. Damn it. Damn it, Spy was in there! Was Spy okay? What if Spy got caught up in some horrible altercation, too?

Both Medic and Spy had been fine, hours ago, post-battle. Medic had been there at dinner, to boot - albeit briefly. He didn’t eat much, and neither did Spy. But still...

Sniper dashed over to the respawn room in RED base. It was larger than just about every other respawn room that the mercs used on the battlefield, and everyone had their own locker filled with their inventory items, and... Sniper looked around. He certainly didn’t _see_ anyone there, but he didn’t smell smoke or rosemary, either.

He walked over to the weapons housing. A few weapons from each merc were hung up on the wall, and there were more stored in boxes, along with ammunition. Some gas cylinders, too.

Sniper had his own Australium-plated rifle displayed up there, which was a nice sight. Shining gold. But no merc was present, so he exited to check the other rooms.

He found out that Soldier was present in the dining room, packing up the leftovers because he was the last to leave. Sniper presumed that he’d be joining the others in the living room sooner or later.

“You seen Medic? Medic or Spy?” Sniper asked.

“No, but- say, did you eat dinner?”

“I just-”

“Private, you have to eat! How else are you going to grow, you skinny Australian?”

Sniper groaned. “You can call me Sniper, you know. Everyone else does! Thanks, though, mate.”

Sniper dashed out before Soldier could lecture him because he was not in the mood. He was tired from having made his way around the whole base, so he just headed back to the locked infirmary. And he knocked.

No answer.

“Goddammit, doc! I know you’re in there! You too, Spy.”

Sniper rolled his eyes, muttered some profanities. He stomped his way upstairs and made a beeline for Spy’s bedroom. Not his own, of course - he wouldn’t find much of use in there. Sniper fished his keys out of his pocket, unlocked the door, and let himself in.

As expected, Spy’s room was nigh barren. The only objects to note were the pictures framed on his wall. Sniper knew one of them was his, but he didn’t bother with that. He pulled open a drawer, and rooted around. Behind a false wood back - yes, there. Bobby pins, paper clips, a small knife, a balisong...

Sniper had no idea why Spy kept his lockpicking items in such a difficult-to-reach place. It defeated the purpose of convenience. Nonetheless, he dropped a bunch of the pieces of metal into the pocket of his slacks before shoving the wood panel back into place. Perfect. Now it looked like a drawer filled with blank sheets of paper and other writing or drawing utensils. Spy wouldn’t even notice the difference. Well, no, he probably would; Sniper crumpled a few sheets of paper. He’d just have to deal with it, then.

Sniper opened the window to take a few breaths of fresh, cool air. He wished he could be outside, taking a walk, but there were more urgent issues to tend to. He shut the window, locked the door behind him, and returned to the infirmary’s entrance.

_Knock, knock._

Still no response. Sniper supposed he shouldn’t be surprised, but he was disappointed.

No matter. He rooted out a knife and a piece of metal from his pocket. Crouching down in the front of the locked medbay, aiming to pick the lock... He felt really weird. The infirmary was unquestionably Medic’s, yes, but it was also sort of everybody’s territory. Public territory for all the REDs.

The blade didn’t fit. Perhaps a pocket knife’s would? Sniper slid it in with ease. Now he just had to work with the hard part.

It didn’t even occur to him that he could obtain an actual key for the infirmary... _somebody_ had to have one, right? Sniper glanced back. He could hear shouting and laughter from the living room. Christ. Everyone was drunk and Sniper didn’t want to bother their game anyway, so he returned to his novice lock picking.

Poking around in the lock was a surreal experience. Sniper felt beads of sweat on his face as he struggled.

He could almost hear it - laughter, the exhalation of cigarette smoke. A chiding voice telling him, “Robin, you’ll never get it if you work like that. You need to be gentle with it, oui?”

Sniper grunted to his memories of Spy trying to teach him to lockpick. Sniper had actually turned out to be really good at it, but it had been a while since he’d tried it out. He never got as good as Spy, who had years of experience under his belt. At least Spy had told him where to find the lockpicking tools.

“Holy shit, just work!” Sniper muttered. He was hovering as close to the lock as he dared, listening for the tiny, tiny _pings_ of the lock’s pins clicking into place.

He was getting a cramp in his arm, trying to hold the pocket knife in place so the pins wouldn’t fall. With a few more pokes from the piece of metal - Sniper realized it was one that Spy himself had fashioned into shape - the knife actually slid to the side.

Sniper exhaled loudly as he turned the lock and got back up. He put the items back into his pocket, and opened the door.

“Doc?” he asked, wiping the sweat off his face. He would’ve knocked but how helpful had that been just now?

With a sigh of relief, Sniper could see Spy resting in a cot by the window. He was asleep, even snoring faintly. For him not to have heard the knocking across the medbay meant he was probably deep in his sleep, but Sniper couldn’t exactly fault him for that.

If Spy was present and accounted for, then where was Medic? A shiver ran down Sniper’s spine. It had been a while since he’d been in a situation even remotely like this. Generally speaking, doors were locked for a reason, and having to lockpick his way in meant Sniper was walking into some kind of trouble.

So Sniper took a look around in the dark. Nothing looked out of place. The Medi Gun was pointed down, but it had likely been used to help heal Spy or alleviate his pain. That reminded Sniper of why he’d come into the infirmary in the first place - to nab some damn painkillers. Damn it, Medic kept them locked up, though. Sniper knew he could at least try to pick the lock to wherever they were kept, but the problem? He didn’t know where that was.

He’d just have to find Medic first.

The man obviously wasn’t in the medbay itself. Maybe he was cooped up in one of the three rooms attached to it? Or the storage room in the hall outside, but Sniper could check there after.

He felt like he was trespassing. Sniper had been in the infirmary maybe twice when Medic wasn’t there, to retrieve bandages or the like, but Spy had always been with him. Spy always alleviated the weight of silence with his banter and assorted comments. But now Spy was unconscious, lying on one of the infirmary’s cots, not to be woken up.

Sniper wasn’t about to yell for Medic again, lest he wake his sleeping friend. He’d have to check the rooms manually.

The magic room wasn’t locked. There was little to see inside when the night sky didn’t offer enough light, and the desk light outside - turned on - was obscured by Sniper’s own silhouette. In any case, Sniper didn’t hear anyone inside, and it gave him the creeps to imagine Medic lurking in there.

He shut the door and strode across the medbay. The bathroom door was open, which was expected. Sniper flicked the light on. Everything looked to be in order. Sniper caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror before turning the light off and flinched at how he looked. The hat and aviators obscured his visage, making him look rather grim. He supposed that was how he looked anyway, being so worried now.

One more room. Medic’s bedroom. Sniper really, really didn’t want to have to break in, but he’d do it just to _check,_ damn it. Medic was _never_ this... scarce. He was always within reach, even if he was cooped up in the infirmary. But Sniper didn’t hear anything from inside. No violin playing, no shouting or ranting... nothing.

_Knock, knock, knock._

The marksman’s knuckles rapped against the wood. The echo of the sound was too loud, far too loud in the empty infirmary.

“Wer ist es?”

Sniper jumped back at the German reply. So Medic had been in there the whole damn time! Sniper’s entire run through base had been pointless, but at least his lockpicking endeavour hadn’t. Maybe not. Hopefully not.

“Wer ist es?” Medic asked again, more insistently. “Lass mich in Ruhe.” He sounded upset, but something else was off.

Sniper squinted, asked, “Doc, are you _drunk?_ You know I don’t understand German.”

The sound of glass shattering in Medic’s bedroom was not a reassuring response.

“Ah, Scheiße!”

There was commotion, shuffling, then finally, the unlocking and opening of the door.

“Herr Sniper?” Medic asked. His eyes were red and he looked tired. But that didn’t make it clear he was drunk; his slurred words and slight swaying back and forth did.

“You’re drunk,” Sniper said flatly.

“Was? Worüber redest du?”

“Medic.”

“Ja?”

“English. Please.”

Medic’s eyes narrowed. He blinked a few times.

“What are you talking about?” he asked.

Sniper pursed his lips, replied, “You’re drunk. You’re definitely drunk. That’s what I’m talking about, what else?”

“Um...” Medic mumbled, needing to think about the rhetorical question. “Spy?” he offered. “Did you come here for Spy? He’s fine. He’s sleeping.”

“I didn’t come here for Spy, but I’m glad to see he’s okay. I came here for painkillers.”

“Wait, _you?”_ Medic asked, in complete disbelief.

“Yeah, I have a headache. I was gonna walk it off, but I figured it’d be better to just cut to the chase.”

“Taking the easy way out?” Medic huffed.

“Guess you could say that. You gonna help me or not? ‘Cause I knocked at least ten times earlier. Why’d you lock the door?”

Medic frowned. “Because I was going to start drinking.”

“You didn’t think that plan through, did you.”

“I think everything through.”

“Clearly not enough. You’re so smashed you didn’t hear me at the door, mate.”

Medic opened his mouth to reply to that before a question popped up in his head. “Then how did you get in?”

Sniper winced. “I picked the lock,” he admitted.

Medic pinched the bridge of his nose, muttered a few obscenities. “Really?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

For some reason, the thought made Medic laugh. Hysterical, hooting laughter.

“Doc. Doc!” Sniper yelled, until Medic calmed down. “You gonna get me some painkillers or what?”

Medic blinked and tapped his chin a few times. “It’s so dark in here, have you noticed?”

“I noticed. My head hurts. Please help me.”

“Okay, come in,” Medic said, walking back into his room.

Sniper was right behind him. He might’ve had more time to appreciate the moonlight settling down over everything nice and gentle had he not spotted the broken glass on the floor, glittering.

“Doc,” he said, instinctively pressing a hand to Medic’s waist and steering him around the fragments.

“I’m wearing boots, but if you wanted to touch me, you could’ve just asked,” Medic purred.

Sniper yanked his hand back, feeling his face heat up. “Th-that’s not-”

“Shh, it’s okay,” Medic said, turning around. He wasn’t wearing his coat or gloves. Just like the disguised Spy in Sniper’s dream...

Sniper shook his head, choosing instead to concentrate on the fact that the room smelled like booze. Also that he should clean the glass up before Medic tripped on it.

“Sniper,” Medic whispered.

“What?” Sniper asked. His mouth was dry. He forced himself to make eye contact, not that there was much to see in the dark.

Medic pressed his hands against Sniper’s neck, rubbing along his jawline with his thumbs. Heat poured in upon the skin-on-skin contact.

“Sniper,” Medic repeated, quieter.

“What?”

Medic kissed him. He tasted like beer, like vodka, like...

Sniper pulled back. “Doc, you’re proper drunk right now, aren’t you?”

“Mm,” Medic responded, giving a one-sided shrug. He obviously didn’t care.

Sniper glanced at Medic’s bedside table, where several bottles were sitting, most of them opened. Plus, the one that had been shattered, Medic had drank...

“You had _five_ bottles?” Sniper asked, horrified.

“One vodka, and a lot of Scout’s preferred brand of beer that tastes like shit, but when you’ve gone far enough, it doesn’t matter what you’re putting down your throat.”

“Bloody hell,” Sniper hissed. He’d come in to the infirmary for Medic to help him out. It never occurred to him that Medic would be the one in need of assistance. He realized, in fine, acute, _painful_ detail how easily he took the man for granted. And not just his occupation, but his _self._ Sniper preferred sober Medic almost as much as he preferred sober Spy.

“Doc, I think you need some rest,” Sniper said. His head was pounding but frankly, he could take care of that himself if Medic was fucking inebriated.

“I had a nap earlier!” Medic protested, pressing his fingertips into Sniper’s skin.

Sniper grabbed Medic’s shoulders. “Passing out doesn’t count as a nap.”

“It does when you’re an insomniac,” Medic said.

Sniper bit his lip. “Okay, that’s true,” he agreed. “But get in bed. Did you even have any water?”

“Does it look like I had any water?”

“No.”

“Sehr gut! Because I didn’t.”

“That’s not a good thing! You need to take care of yourself!”

That sent Medic into another laughing fit. He was doubled over with laughter.

“What?” Sniper demanded.

“Oh, Sniper,” Medic said, returning his hands to Sniper’s neck. “If I cared about myself enough to take care of myself, then I _would._ I find it hard to believe you haven’t noticed that I’m very, very bad at caring for myself.”

Sniper knew that. Medic spent most of his nights awake, working. He worked a lot, he didn’t eat enough, he didn’t sleep enough. And now he was drinking to the point of passing out and ignoring patrons.

“Why?” Sniper asked, feeling a twinge of pain in his heart. Hearing the Medic talk about himself in such a self-deprecating way was unpleasant.

“Because,” Medic said sternly, gripping Sniper’s shoulders the same way Sniper had done to him. “Because. I. Don’t. Care.” He let go of Sniper and threw his hands in the air. “Get it?”

“Christ, doc... Maybe you don’t care, but others do. You know how important you are to Demoman. You know how important you are to the team!”

Medic giggled.

“Are you listening?”

“Yes! I’m listening.”

“Good.” Sniper took a deep breath and looked Medic in the eye. He knew the man was drunk and wouldn’t remember his words later, so now was the time to speak. “You know how important you are to _me._ And maybe that’s selfish of me, to say you should care for yourself ‘cause others want you to, but I don’t care. You’re fucking important to me.”

Medic was stopped short. “You-”

“I fucking care about you. Do you believe me? I haven’t pushed your hands off of me even though they’re burning my skin, so how about that?”

Medic was rendered speechless. Completely, utterly speechless.

“But...” he began, before shaking his head. He removed his hands from Sniper on his own volition, and ran a hand through his hair.

“Sleep. You need to sleep,” Sniper persisted. He could not think of any instances in the past where he’d been so pushy, especially not towards Medic, of all people. He tended to be fine with accepting things as they came, and that was okay. Not now, though. Medic being drunk and very much incoherent was not okay. Sniper might’ve been more alarmed to find himself _caring_ so much about the man had he not just admitted it out loud.

Medic allowed himself to be seated on the bed. Sniper was about to try laying him down when a mournful noise escaped the man’s throat.

“Whoa, hey, doc-”

Medic started _sobbing._ It took Sniper by surprise because although he could deal with a drunkard, he could not, he never could deal with somebody crying.

“I’m sorry! Es tut mir leid! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so, so, so, so sorry...” Medic yelled. He shoved his head in his hands, and his glasses fell to the floor. His shoulders shook as he was wracked with cascades, with waves of sobs that showed no sign of stopping any time soon.

“It’s okay!” Sniper exclaimed, trying to keep the utter distress he was feeling out of his voice. “It’s okay, why are you crying?” He picked up the glasses and set them on the bedside table. 

“It’s not okay! None of it is, and it’s all my _gottverdammt_ fault, Robin!”

“Can you please... please explain what happened?” Sniper asked, taking deep breaths. If he started crying too, then they’d both be fools milling about in Medic’s bedroom, crying.

Medic coughed. “G-get my Kritzkrieg.”

Sniper was perplexed at the sudden command, but he had little more option than to obey. He rushed outside and rubbed his misty eyes. The mediguns were all resting on their respective docking stations on the counter.

Sniper recognized the Kritzkrieg as the one with the yellow lights on its black barrel, not to mention the gun that Medic had used for magic on Spy. He unplugged it from its station, and dragged it off the counter with its backpack.

“Shit,” Sniper cursed, nearly dropping the heavy machinery. It was no small effort for him to bring it back to Medic’s bedroom, even though the walk was short. He plopped it down next to Medic, who was still crying but at least he wasn’t making those heart-wrenching noises anymore.

“There,” Sniper breathed. The pack and gun sank into the hard mattress.

“Danke,” Medic whispered. He attached one of the gun’s tubes to the pack, and switched them on.

“Sit,” Medic invited, patting the side of the bed to his side that was not currently occupied by medical equipment.

Sniper sat. Medic aimed the gun at him and Sniper gave a sigh of relief.

“Thanks. ‘S like magic,” he said, before realizing what he just said.

Medic quirked a smile at that even as he stared down at the gun and tears ran down his face.

“It is like magic, but it’s not. It’s just hard science,” he said. He was still slurring his words, and that reminded Sniper he needed to get some rest.

Medic swung the barrel over and inhaled the fumes straight from the opening. He rested his chin against the rim, closed his eyes, and just breathed slowly, shakily.

“I’ve lost track of the days,” Medic said, his voice thick with sadness.

“What do you mean?” Sniper asked, rubbing his head.

Medic leaned against Sniper’s side. He rubbed circles against the Kritzkrieg’s smooth surface and wished his hands were against Sniper instead. So he set the gun on the floor before placing the backpack down next to it.

“The days of the past week or so. I can’t even trust my own memories. I don’t know anymore, but...” he shook his head, and turned to Sniper. “I have to come clean.

Sniper was still staring forward, at the wall across from the two.

“About what?” he asked.

Medic swallowed hard. “Do you remember the night I got drunk? Then I got you drunk? Or at least tipsy.”

“We were both drunk. We’re both lightweights, isn’t that what Demo said?” Sniper said with a snort.

“Do you remember... anything that happened... after... that?” Medic asked, swallowing hard.

Sniper frowned and racked his mind. He remembered that this very event was what he’d wanted to ask Medic about after it happened, because... because he’d forgotten about most of it. After he’d woken up, he’d been appalled to realize that he couldn’t recall what had happened. But he’d remembered enough to know that what they did was very, very sexual.

“Kinda, but not really,” Sniper said, figuring that was safe enough to divulge.

Medic took a deep breath. “Do you know _why_ you don’t remember?” he asked quietly.

Sniper rubbed his face with a gloved hand, ruminating.

“...Nah,” he finally said.

“It’s my fault,” Medic confessed. “I wiped your memory after.”

Sniper was taken aback. “You _what,_ now? I think I’m gonna need a drink.”

“I wiped your memory,” Medic repeated, handing Sniper one of the bottles of the table.

He stared into Sniper’s eyes now that the marksman was facing him. But he had to break eye contact before continuing. “I was guilty about what happened while we were both drunk... I wasn’t sure what you’d think about what happened because... I just... What if you regretted it? What if you hadn’t actually wanted to do anything with me, and the morning after, everything would just be...” Medic shrugged. “...Awkward.”

Sniper took a few swigs of the alcohol. It burned going down, more so than whiskey. That was probably a good sign at this point. “So you tried to make me forget it all instead of, y’know, lettin’ us face our actions and their consequences like responsible adults?”

Medic cringed. “Well, when you put it that way...” He shook his head. “I appreciate the honesty, though.”

“Me too,” Sniper said. “I’m glad you told me that.” He gagged on the drink but took another swallow just because he could.

“I’m-” Medic stopped himself as he realized which bottle he’d given Sniper. “Are you sure you want to drink that?” he asked.

The tone of his voice was enough to make Sniper second guess himself, but not to the point of backing down.

“Yeah,” he said.

“Sniper,” Medic said gently.

“What?” Sniper asked.

“That’s absinthe. You’re drinking absinthe. Diluted somewhat, but...”

“Ugh, is this what you Europeans like? The shit that tastes like herbs?”

Medic gave a laugh. “More like licorice, I think. I just happened to have it around, but I didn’t mean to hand it to you. I know how you _non-_ Europeans love your beer.”

“Nothin’ to complain about with a decent beer,” Sniper quipped. He took another swallow of the drink before Medic plucked the bottle out of his hand.

“I think that’s enough,” Medic said, screwing the cap back on. “You’re going to fuck yourself up.”

“Hey, comin’ from you? Don’t think you have much of a right to say that, doc...”

Sniper brushed the tears from Medic’s face.

“I’m sorry,” Medic whispered, taking Sniper’s hand in his own. “I had to tell you sooner or later. Spy jumped me for it.”

“Wait, what? He’s been asleep, hasn’t he? Why would he do that?”

Medic rested his head on Sniper’s shoulder.

“Because I hurt you. Maybe you don’t know it, but it’s not a good thing that I would... try to clear your memory. It’s not good for you, mentally.”

“‘Least I’m still alive. What about Spy?”

“He’s alive, too. For that, I _am_ rather grateful. But he told me he learned to mind read. Not much, but enough to read the truth about what happened between us, and my guilt. He accosted me for it. Without a doubt, that act of magic put strain on his mind, and his fever-headache likely stripped him of whatever inhibitions he’d normally have. He choked me.”

Sniper was aghast. He tipped Medic’s head off of his shoulder, stood, and got up to turn the light on. He managed to do so with minimal wobbling.

“Holy _shit.”_

There were bruises - visible bruises - on Medic’s neck. Definitely from finger imprints. Medic swallowed and it looked like it hurt.

“I liked it more with the lights off,” he sighed, shaking his head and tearing up again.

Sniper took the cue to heart and turned the light off before sitting back down beside Medic. In his chest swirled a tumultuous whirlwind of emotions.

“Why did he do this?” Sniper asked, feeling Medic’s neck with a light touch.

“For _you,_ Robin. He’s your best friend, are you really surprised he would go to such lengths to defend you? I don’t blame him; he was clearly out of it. And more than that, I certainly deserved it for what I did to you without asking for your consent.”

“I don’t care about what you did to me. New memories will always replace the old ones, right?”

“I care, and I have to apologize for my actions. I’m taking responsibility, like a responsible adult. Spy strangled me because he knew what I did was wrong and he was mad about it. He was justified in his anger. Perhaps that makes up for your lack of it now.”

“I wouldn’t have wanted him to hurt you either way,” Sniper said. He kissed Medic’s neck tentatively. “‘M not gonna say either of you were right in what you did, but I get why you both did it. And... are you okay? Does this hurt?” he asked, his lips brushing against skin.

“N-no, don’t stop,” Medic gasped, grabbing the back of Sniper’s head and knocking his hat off.

Sniper kissed a little harder. He reached for the buttons on Medic’s pinstripe vest and his fingers fumbled undoing them, but Medic didn’t stop him to help.

“Did you want it?” Medic asked as he was pushed down onto the bed.

“Want what? You? Because I think the answer to that should be clear...”

“No- well, yes. That evening, though, when we were both drunk. Like right now.”

Sniper kicked his shoes off and worked at his belt and slacks. He heard the faint clinking of metal tools bumping into each other in his pocket as he set the pants down on the floor.

Medic undid the buttons on his dress shirt and tossed that down, too.

“You have no idea how bad I wanted you. I still do... Like right now.”

Medic cried out as Sniper pressed a palm to his crotch.

“Hard already?” he teased.

“It’s easy when it’s you,” Medic replied, throwing his shirt aside.

“Mmn,” Sniper hummed, kissing Medic’s belly while undoing his belt.

“When you were touching the bruises,” Medic said. He clutched his blanket. “...Can you do that again?”

Sniper looked up. “You like being in pain?” he asked.

“No!” Medic exclaimed, blushing even though his face was already flushed from drunkenness.

Sniper yanked his pants off, quickly followed by his underpants. In one motion performed far too fluid for somebody who’d consumed a quarter of an absinthe bottle, he straddled the Medic.

“That’s what Spy did,” Medic commented. “But it was against the floor, and I was also terrified.”

“Don’t talk about Spy now,” Sniper said, kicking his boxers off from his ankle.

“Heh, sorry about that.”

“Are you terrified now, doc?”

“No.”

“Because I can stop.”

“If you stop, I may have to stab you.”

“With your-”

_”Saw.”_

Sniper grinned wide.

“Take your glasses off,” Medic said, reaching up for the aviators.

Sniper felt the tingle of heat from Medic’s fingers making contact with his cheek.

“You have beautiful eyes, you know?”

“Thanks, mate. I always thought they were odd.”

“I wish you didn’t cover them up all the time, but I know how bad your vision is.”

“Hey-”

“I’m your doctor, remember? But it doesn’t matter that you always have the glasses on, because that just means whenever I can see your eyes, the moment is all the greater... even if I can’t really see them right now.”

“That’s pretty sweet.”

Medic quirked a smile. “I try.”

“You know, you don’t have to be sweet to charm me.”

Medic glanced down. “I can tell because of your hard-on.”

Sniper grabbed one of Medic’s hips then grinded against him.

“I might not remember what happened that one night, but I remember a lot of other things we’ve done,” he said.

“Like what?” Medic gasped, his back arching as he curved towards Sniper.

“Like when we bit each other.”

“Oh, Scheiße,” Medic said, giving a nervous laugh.

Sniper leaned over Medic. He took Medic’s chin in a hand and kissed him, then he directed his kisses along Medic’s jawline, then to his neck.

“Right there,” Medic gasped, his hands clawing Sniper’s bare back.

Sniper sucked against where he was pretty sure Spy had been clutching when he’d choked Medic. The situation was so weird yet deliciously erotic. He bit down on Medic’s neck.

Medic cried out. “Wait, oh god - _ah!_ \- keep going, don’t stop, don’t stop!”

Sniper rolled his hips forward, feeling Medic’s length rubbing against his own. God, it felt good. He bit harder.

Medic felt shots of pain and he loved it. He wanted more and displayed his enthusiasm by treating Sniper’s back as a scratching post.

“Harder,” he whined.

Sniper obeyed. He could feel Medic quivering beneath him and he was thrilled. Now, he could drop his worries along with his clothes on the floor. Now, his only concern was getting Medic off. It was something he thoroughly enjoyed doing.

He reached down to take both their cocks in the hand that wasn’t supporting the back of Medic’s neck.

Sniper kissed Medic’s neck once more before pulling back to take a breath and say, with a chuckle, “I can feel your pulse, love.”

Medic slid a hand up to the back of Sniper’s head, urging him and his teeth back down.

“Is it going fast? I can definitely feel my heart beating fast.”

Sniper gave a hum of affirmation, licking along his savage bite marks. He opened his mouth and bit down again, right on the same spot as before.

“Oh, fuck! Yes, yes, yes,” Medic cried, bucking his hips upward and grinding his length against Sniper’s.

Sniper let go of Medic’s neck as soon as he could taste the beads of blood leaking onto his tongue.

“Crap,” he said. Then he remembered Medic’s strange blood kink. He swiped two fingers on the wound, then proceeded to shove those fingers into Medic’s mouth. He sucked on them. Eagerly, too - working his tongue around the digits.

“Fuck, I need more,” Medic whispered. Using an elbow to prop himself up, he went ahead and set his teeth against Sniper’s neck. Medic gasped, feeling the press of Sniper’s hands around his cock.

“May I?” he asked.

Sniper could feel the words dance against his skin. “Yeah, do it,” he said.

Medic bit down and let out a high-pitched, needy whine from the back of his throat.

“Oh, just like that, love. I ever tell you that I bloody _love_ the sounds that come out of your pretty little mouth?”

“You also like it when my ‘pretty little mouth’ is around your erection.”

“Can you blame me?”

“Not really,” Medic said as he resumed kissing and nipping at Sniper’s neck.

“Are you sure?” Medic asked, wondering if Sniper understood what he wanted.

“Doc, what happens to me on the battlefield tends to be a lot worse than your teeth. And on the battlefield, the sight isn’t as nice...”

“You flatter me. But thank you. I’m sure if I was in complete control of myself, I wouldn’t even deign to ask this of you, ha.”

“Just go for it, doc.”

Medic’s lips brushed against Sniper’s throat.

“I liked it when you called me ‘love’,” he murmured, making Sniper’s breath hitch.

Medic pressed as close to Sniper as he could while being underneath him. He bit down on Sniper’s neck _hard,_ with the firm and clear intention to draw blood.

“Shit,” Sniper gasped.

“Too much?” Medic asked innocently, licking his lips.

“Nah, it’s fine. Wish I understood how you get off on this, though.”

“The same way you get off on throwing jars of urine on your enemies.”

Sniper grunted. “I don’t get off on that.”

“Well I get off on _you.”_

“Under me,” Sniper corrected, giving their cocks a squeeze.

“For the time being, maybe.”

Medic licked Sniper’s neck. He had zero qualms about his questionable tendencies when he was sober. Why would he care any more when he was inebriated?

“Once, I saw you do it,” Medic said.

“Do what?”

“You licked blood off your blade. The kukri, I believe. After finishing off the BLU Medic in a mercy kill, after I’d concussed him.”

Sniper had almost forgotten doing that. “You _saw_ that?” he asked, incredulous.

“Ja, I did. It was a spectacle, and I admit, you had me undone.”

“Don’t I have you undone now, too?”

Medic rubbed a thumb against Sniper’s neck, raw, bloody, slick with saliva on one portion.

“You do,” Medic admitted. “I’m surprised you’re taking it so slow,” he said, smiling.

Sniper tilted his head, studying the Medic underneath him. Flushed, shining - in what little light there was - with sweat, emanating waves of heat.

“We undressed so quickly, figured some slowness was in order.”

“Perhaps,” Medic replied. There was only a little blood in his mouth but it was already driving him mad.

“But perhaps you can speed things up,” Medic said.

“How?”

“First, I’m going to need you to get off of me.”

“A shame,” Sniper commented as he lifted off of Medic. He was considerate enough to also let go of their cocks.

“You know, I have lubricant for a reason,” Medic said.

“Wait you mean... You’d be willing to? With me?”

“Let you fuck me in the ass? Of course, why wouldn’t I? But I won’t now, because we’re both drunk.”

“Fine by me, but what else did you have in mind?”

Medic turned around on the bed to face Sniper.

“Do me and I’ll do you,” he said, reaching down. His hand grazed along Sniper’s inner thigh before taking hold of his hard-on.

“I wouldn’t mind sucking you off,” Sniper said.

“Blunt,” Medic replied, laughing and even hiccupping. “I like that. But trust me, with both of us in this state... I don’t think that this is going to last very long.”

“Fair enough,” Sniper replied, obliging with Medic. “I’ve been told my blowjobs are better than my handjobs, but like you said, we _are_ drunk.”

Medic smiled again. “I won’t judge,” he promised.

“Good,” Sniper said. He gave a growl, feeling the heat from Medic’s palm against his skin.

“Too much?” Medic asked, using his other hand to rub Sniper’s blood marks, leaking blood like Medic’s own.

“Nah, you’ve done worse. Not in places that sensitive, but still,” Sniper said, stroking Medic slowly.

“Mm, are you sure? I can feel my hands are pretty hot right now, I can ease up, if you want.”

“Don’t. I’m starting to enjoy it. Actually feels kinda nice with the friction.”

“Really now?” Medic asked. He rubbed his thumb to the head of Sniper’s cock, feeling the pre-cum.

Sniper moaned shamelessly, loudly.

“Shh, Spy’s still outside,” Medic whispered. He leaned in to kiss and silence Sniper.

“He won’t be wakin’ up anytime soon though, will he?”

“I doubt it...”

Sniper brought his free hand up to Medic’s cheek, tilted his face forward until they could taste each other’s hot breaths. Then he shifted his hand down to Medic’s neck, wet with blood and saliva. He pressed down.

“Sniper, please!” Medic exclaimed, trying his best not to squeeze Sniper’s cock harder. “It hurts...”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No. Please don’t stop. Please, please,” Medic begged. He was panting.

Sniper kissed him, relishing the heat, even the faint hint of blood on Medic’s tongue. He didn’t stop, still getting his partner off with both hands, one around Medic’s hard-on, wet with pre-cum, and one on Medic’s neck, bruised and bitten.

Medic had to pull back to cry out upon his climax.

“Jesus, doc! Mind your hand,” Sniper hissed.

Medic mewed softly, almost pitifully.

“T-thank you... ich liebe dich, danke...” he said, dropping the love confession again. Casual as can be.

“You’re welcome,” Sniper gasped, feeling Medic’s release on his stomach. He was pulling back but Medic’s hand on the back of his neck preventing him from getting far.

“Not finished yet,” Medic whispered. “You’re not finished yet.”

“‘S not a big deal, I’m ‘bout to pass out anyway.”

“It’s not a big- ha, was that supposed to be a size pun? Come over here. Literally.”

Medic’s grip was clumsy but Sniper was so close it didn’t matter, it was just a few heartbeats before he came on Medic’s front and now they were both warm and sticky.

“Fuck, fuck,” Sniper growled. “D-do you have a towel? Anything?”

Medic groaned. With great effort, he managed to get up and retrieve a towel - dark grey, not that the colour was particularly visible in the dark - from his closet. He tossed it to Sniper before flopping back down on the bed.

Sniper took it to wipe the bedsheet first. It would be stained if it wasn’t washed. The towel was thick, really nice.

“Is this your towel?”

“Ja, probably.”

“It smells like you,” Sniper said, holding it close to his face before he went ahead and wiped his torso off. He was glad his face was obscured; he was smiling because he thought it smelled nice.

“I’d be concerned if it didn’t,” Medic murmured, taking the other side of the towel to wipe himself off.

When they were more or less cleaned up, they ended up tangled in each other’s limbs. Exhausted but content.

Sniper was the first to pass out, snoring loudly before Medic was even considering sleep. But with one of Sniper’s arms around him and no desire to get up, he supposed sleeping was all he could do now.

Medic pecked Sniper’s cheek, told him, “I meant it. Ich liebe dich,” before he closed his eyes and invited the night to blanket over him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \\\ 1. I don’t know if the infirmary lock would be a pin and tumbler lock or not. In this fic, it is. Picking those is fun. And by ‘fun’, I mean ‘annoyingly tedious’.  
> 2\. Fun fact: this is the longest chapter yet.


	14. Coffee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been listening to a lot of Funkoars while writing this at late o'clock in the morning. They're good. //

The air was cold but Sniper wasn’t. He was lying on his back as he rubbed his eyes, trying to blink to awakeness. There was a weight on his arm. He glanced over to see Medic curled into his side. The sight made him smile.

The room was dim, very dim. Sniper took a look at the clock - it read _5:08 AM._

“Shit,” Sniper muttered, realizing his bladder was full. Thankfully, he did not have a boner. Not a persistent one, at least. He shifted in discomfort. “Doc,” he whispered.

Medic was fast asleep, snoring lightly.

“Doc,” Sniper repeated, a little louder. Not too loud, though. He didn’t want to aggravate his throbbing hangover with his own damn voice.

Medic didn’t even stir.

“Alright, fine then,” Sniper sighed.

He tried to wriggle his arm out from under Medic, and actually managed to do so without waking him up. Success! Sniper grinned, proud of himself. He grabbed his aviators and stretched before exiting Medic’s bedroom.

The infirmary tile was cold underfoot. Everything was awash with deep blue, thanks to the window blinds’ varying levels of openness, but interrupted by bright white from the desk lamp.

It was eerie being in the infirmary alone. Or almost alone; the sleeping Spy didn’t count. Sniper cocked his head. He couldn’t see well in the dark, but from the little he _could_ see of Spy’s form, it didn’t seem like he’d moved at all since earlier in the evening. Sniper stepped a little closer. Spy was still breathing. That reassured Sniper enough for him to go and take a piss.

He finished his business, flushed the toilet, and washed his hands with the nice infirmary soap that smelled like wildflowers and summertime. It didn’t remind Sniper much of any summer he’d personally lived through; the summers of his past prior to working with RED smelled a lot more like the desert. Carcasses roasting over an open campfire. Gunpowder, blood, sweat. Accidental cuts on fingertips with the hunting knife, bullets stashed in odd places, a heavy backpack...

Sniper caught himself standing, shivering a little, staring out the window. It wasn’t just surroundings looking blue, he felt rather blue. Still, he wasn’t going anywhere without his hat. His heart squeezed thinking about Medic, but the sudden need for fresh air was hitting him and he couldn’t ignore it.

He returned to the bedroom to see Medic was sitting up on the bed, back to the wall, which nearly made Sniper shout out loud.

“Guten morgen, Robin,” Medic said, looking up. He sounded groggy, which was apt considering he’d just woken up.

“Hey,” Sniper said.

“It’s around five in the morning. Do you usually get up at this time? There were times I thought the instance you’d been hovering outside of my office was just a fluke, and you happened to have a logical explanation on hand, but... I suppose I should’ve believed you from the start.”

Sniper huffed, though not in an offended manner. “Yeah, sometimes I get up. Always around five. Take a piss, take a walk.”

Medic blinked. He looked down at his hands, where he was twiddling his fingers.

“Are you going now?” he asked, quiet.

Sniper climbed onto the bed and leaned in to kiss Medic’s cheek. He pulled back far enough to make eye contact, even though there was little to see amidst shadows and breaths.

“Yeah, I need some air. I can come back, though.”

Medic brought a hand up, holding Sniper’s face. His palms were warm, but in a subdued way, not like when he was fully awake. Still, the heat... it was pleasant.

“Bring me with you,” Medic said.

Sniper’s heart was thudding against his ribcage so hard he wondered if Medic could hear it, with that excellent hearing of his.

“Alright. Come with me,” Sniper said, before backing away.

Neither of them was wearing anything but they were both too tired to start anything.

“Does your head hurt as much as mine?” Sniper asked, scanning the floor for articles of clothing.

“Depends,” Medic replied. “Does yours feel like it’s about to split open?”

“Yeah, actually. Kinda.”

“Then we’re even.”

Sniper chuckled as he tossed Medic’s clothes onto the bed.

“Hey, doc. The Kritzkrieg’s still here. ‘S that a good thing?”

Medic retrieved his clothes, replied, “It doesn’t need to be in its docking station to work the next day. The station is more for display purposes, anyway. But thank you for reminding me. I’ll bring it with us to help relieve us of our headaches.”

“Smart thinking,” Sniper said, pulling his pants on.

When the two were fully clothed - Sniper’s uniform vest not a part of his current ensemble - they headed out into base.

“You ever come out at five o’clock in the morning?” Sniper asked, keeping his voice down to a whisper.

“Rarely. Even though I spend many nights awake, most of what I need is already in the infirmary. Be it food, water, medicine, or even materials for magic-related endeavours,” Medic responded.

Sniper stopped and glanced back. Medic nearly bumped into him.

“What?” Medic asked, raising an eyebrow.

Sniper tried very hard not to smile again and failed. Medic looked so serious, so _prepared_ for anything in his work uniform and with the Kritzkrieg on his back. The nightlights in the hallway threw oddly-angled shadows at his face, heightening the effect.

“What?” Medic asked again, giving a confused smile in return.

“Nothin’,” Sniper replied.

“Oh, please.”

“You just look so serious. Even without the gloves, you’ve got the coat and- when’d you even comb your hair? We were dressin’ in your room for ten minutes.”

Medic laughed softly. “Don’t underestimate me.”

Sniper shrugged, turned back around. Base was so quiet without his teammates jumping around, hollering, making a mess of the place.

“Look,” Medic whispered, sidling up to Sniper as they approached the rec room. He poked his head in.

“Holy dooley,” Sniper whispered from behind Medic.

“Look at them, they’re so peaceful when they’re asleep.”

Everyone from the poker party plus Soldier had passed out in the living room. Heavy was on the couch with Pyro snuggled into his side, and Engineer beside them. The three were covered in a plaid blanket. Scout had lain himself across one armchair, somehow managing to make it look comfortable. Demoman had been sitting on another armchair not unlike how one might fall asleep on a throne, with both arms on the armrests, feet planted firmly on the floor, and head lolling to the side. Soldier had fallen asleep on the floor, with a pillow under his head and a blanket over his body.

“They do,” Sniper agreed. “I’d say we should get going quickly before we wake ‘em, but if any of them were real light sleepers, they’d have woken up by now.”

It was true; the volume of the combined snoring in the room was pretty loud.

Nonetheless, Sniper’s comment made Medic laugh. Softly, again. He urged Sniper forward, out of base. The automatic door slid open and shut for them. The security cameras whirred overhead.

Beyond the bright white lights pointed at the door that resembled Medic’s desk lamp, the area was dark. Looming evergreen forest surrounded the perimeter around base. Thankfully, Sniper’s van was just up ahead, and no searching would be necessary in the early morning darkness.

“I gotta grab somethin’ from my van, doc,” Sniper said, nodding towards the vehicle.

“Then let’s go.”

Sniper reached into his pocket, feeling Spy’s lockpicking tools jangling inside. Hopefully they were all still there, so Sniper could return them later. Among the tools, Sniper managed to fish out his keys.

“Hold on, ‘s dark here. Can’t tell which one’s which.”

Medic reached for his Kritzkrieg. He focused it on Sniper, and the healing beam poured out, illuminating Sniper’s hands with reddish light.

“Thanks,” Sniper said, grateful. The gun had the bonus effect of dulling the hangover headache.

“Here it is,” Sniper said, holding a key up. He unlocked the door to his van and let himself in. The inside had a bit of a musty smell, so Sniper went ahead and cracked open the window to let in fresh air.

“Are you really able to stand sleeping in here?” Medic asked, looking around. There wasn’t much to see with the lights off; the only light source was his Kritzkrieg’s beam and it wasn’t much of a light source.

“Yeah,” Sniper sighed, scratching the back of his head. “‘S nice to be outside. Don’t like bein’ cooped up in base.”

“Do you even use your bedroom?” Medic asked, taking a seat on Sniper’s bed.

“Mostly for storage, but sometimes I sleep in there,” Sniper replied as he rummaged through a junk drawer. One of many.

Medic had Sniper’s blanket wrapped around him in seconds. He held it up to his face with the hand that wasn’t occupied with the Kritzkrieg’s handle. It smelled like Sniper, of course it did.

“Crap, where the hell did I put ‘em?” Sniper mumbled to himself.

Medic didn’t reply, not that he’d be of much assistance. He wanted to just curl up in Sniper’s bed and sleep there. He wanted to be enveloped in Sniper, and his scent, and his body heat. Just sitting on the bed, holding the blanket, triggered a rush of desires, wants, and needs in Medic. His grip tightened and for some reason, he felt tears prickling at his eyes.

The realization hurt. Medic had admitted to Sniper of his love, albeit in German and not English. Even then, he’d made it very clear he held affection for Sniper, and yet... What did Sniper feel? In some ways, he was an enigma. Unreadable.

“Ow,” Sniper hissed, bumping his head on something.

Medic sprang up. “Are you alright?” was his automatic response.

“Yeah, I got the overheal, I’m fine.”

Medic relaxed, settling back down on the bed. He sniffled into the blanket and shut his eyes. This was getting ridiculous. Obviously, Sniper liked him enough not to just do sexual things with him, but also to sleep with him. And that required trust, to boot. Even if Sniper felt the same way for Medic, which Medic wasn’t sure of, he’d be more flabbergasted at the reality of Sniper’s trust in and of itself. That was the most radical thing to him.

“Got it!” Sniper exclaimed, making Medic jump.

“What were you looking for?” Medic asked, attempting to sound like his regular self. Sleepy, but otherwise close enough.

“Night vision glasses,” Sniper replied, handing Medic a pair.

“Oh, danke,” Medic said, letting go of Sniper’s blanket to take the glasses.

“I really only use the one pair, but I have two on hand in case Spy ever needs ‘em. Even though he’s awake at five o’clock sometimes, I’ve asked him before to join me on my walks, but he prefers sleeping.”

Medic managed to work the glasses on over his regular pair. The world went from black and dark blue to black and green. The Kritzkrieg’s beam was bright in his view, and he had to avert his gaze from it.

“Don’t these usually come as goggles?” Medic asked.

“These are made by Mann Co. They might not make some things well but, uh, guess their night vision technology is pretty advanced.”

“Alright, that works for me,” Medic said. He let go of his medigun to adjust the glasses, and when he reached for it again, he knocked it over to the side. The healing beam faded.

Sniper was looking for something else, in the clothing pile at the foot of the bed. If he had any comments about Medic taking his blanket, he didn’t state them.

“Hey doc, why’re you usin’ the Kritzkrieg now anyway? Thought you weren’t really s’posed to use your guns out of battle.”

“The Kritzkrieg works for headaches, especially those of the hangover variety,” Medic replied as he attempted to grab the gun. He took hold of the handle and heard something crumple as he righted the gun.

Crap. He’d heard from Spy that Sniper drew, or at least used to. Did he really leave paper on his bed? More out of reflex than desire, Medic took the sheet of paper from beside the pillow.

“Oh,” Medic whispered, eyes widening.

This paper was _his._ One of the note sheets he’d brought from the Badlands. And one of his favourites to boot, with dove footprints - Archimedes’ - on one side and... he flipped it over to see familiar sketches of his teammates on the other side.

Yes, this was definitely his. And Sniper had been in possession of it this whole time. Better than being lost...

“What’s up?” Sniper asked, holding his vest. He turned to see Medic with his notes in gloved hand.

“Ah, bloody hell,” he cursed.

“When did you even take this?”

“I been in the infirmary a decent number of times over the past week, haven’t I?” Sniper asked. “Nabbed it when you were patchin’ up Spy after he went and drank alcohol.”

“...Why?”

Sniper didn’t really know what to say to that. He had no excuse. “I... I kinda looked through your things, yeah?”

Medic sighed.

“I didn’t see much, don’t worry. Just... this paper. I had it with me when I got up to check on Spy, ‘cause his screaming made me worried. I’ve had it with me ever since ‘cause I never got the chance to return it.”

“Well, I appreciate the honesty. I was wondering where this went.”

Sniper took a deep breath. “‘M sorry for takin’ it in the first place, mate. Didn’t mean to, just kinda did.”

“It’s okay, it’s not a big deal,” Medic replied. Even though it _was_ kind of a big deal, what with the paper being one of his few reminders of his precious doves.

“Feel free to take it back, of course.”

Medic folded the paper in half, creased it carefully, then folded it in half again. He set it down on Sniper’s pillow.

“No, you can keep it,” he said, looking up at Sniper’s sheepish expression in green. “I have more.”

“Really? ‘S kinda yours, doc.”

Medic took his Kritzkrieg and stood up. “Ja, really. Take it,” he said, stepping up to Sniper to peck his cheek.

Sniper blushed. “Th-thanks.”

Medic smiled, replied, “It’s no problem.” He nodded at the door. “Shall we?”

Sniper threw his vest on and opened the door for him. “Let’s go,” he said, letting Medic out first.

“Don’t you find it chilly, when you’re out at this hour?” Medic asked. “I know you get cold easily.”

Sniper closed and locked the door to his van. He huffed, asked, “How do you know that?”

“It’s part of my job to know such things about you. And everybody else too, for that matter. Even then, it’d be easy to guess you don’t do well in cold... did you not spend a sizeable chunk of your life in the Australian outback?”

Sniper shrugged, feeling the Kritzkrieg’s healing beam on him again. He took a path through the trees he was familiar with.

“Yeah, ‘s true.”

“Remember when we were at Coldfront?” Medic asked, following Sniper and trying to avoid branches in front of his face.

“Bloody hated it,” Sniper muttered.

Medic laughed, but he understood. “One month. We were there for one month, then it was straight back to the desert.”

“Badlands are better’n Coldfront. Nearly froze to death every day. It was bloody miserable.”

“Everybody knew not to speak to you. You were grumpy every day,” Medic said, shaking his head.

Sniper noted a boulder to his side and went around it.

“I don’t like the cold, ‘s hard to blame me.”

“Ja, that’s a good point. I can’t say Coldfront was that bad... A change of pace can be nice, though desert to snowy alpine is a jarring transition.”

Sniper nodded in agreement. He stopped walking and again, Medic nearly bumped into him.

“Are we stopping?” he asked.

“Shh,” Sniper replied. He closed his eyes and breathed in the cool air. Even though he had his eyes closed, he tipped the night vision glasses up onto his head.

Medic followed his example and did the same. It was quiet. A few birds were out and about above them, chirping their various melodies, but otherwise... the forest was still slumbering. It was peaceful.

“Hey, doc?” Sniper asked, his voice sounding smaller than before and not just because Medic had been focusing on the silence over the din.

“Hmm?” he asked. He opened his eyes to see Sniper standing in front of him, still basking in the glow of the Kritzkrieg.

“There’s been somethin’ eatin’ at me for a while ‘nd I figured I should talk to you sooner or later. Sooner, actually.”

“What is it?” Medic asked, suddenly concerned. Anxiety ramped up inside of him and horrid scenarios started playing out in his mind.

Sniper looked uncomfortable as he could possibly be, fidgeting in the spot and taking deep breaths. But he had to be frank, he had to be honest. ‘Later’ was a time to stack issues up until they came crashing down in a painful heap. And sooner was better than later.

“It’s physical,” he blurted. 

Medic squinted at him, which might’ve had more of an impact had the two been donning their night vision glasses. But neither of them were, so their reactions to each other were shrouded in the darkness.

“What?” Medic asked. As soon as the question came out of his mouth, it hit him. He understood. The understanding was... painful. It knocked the breath out of him and he didn’t enjoy that.

“It’s... I’m-”

“No, I understand,” Medic said, voice quiet. He looked down to where the dirt was, where he kind of wanted to lie down and curl up on.

“I don’t know,” Sniper said all of a sudden. He sounded distressed. He sounded exasperated. And it wasn’t directed at Medic, it was directed at himself. “I don’t really get it, and ‘m sorry for that. I wish I got it. I just... just figured I should tell you.”

“I appreciate your honesty.”

“You’re... welcome, I guess. I still... I still want you.”

Medic managed a bit of a smile at that. He felt Sniper’s hands on his waist, pulling him in for a gentle kiss. He could taste salt. A brush of his finger against Sniper’s cheek, and he could feel wetness.

Why would Sniper be tearing up at telling the truth? Did he feel bad? Medic was about to ask, when Sniper tapped his glasses back down into place and spoke up.

“Let’s get going.”

Medic adjusted his pair over his own glasses and watched the forest illuminate itself in green before his eyes. He felt a hand press to the crook of his elbow. He might’ve taken Sniper’s hand in his hand had he not been wielding the Kritzkrieg.

He wanted to speak up. He wanted to say something, anything, but he had nothing to say. He couldn’t feel any more than a dull ache in his chest, a gnawing hollowness, and the press of Sniper’s grip on his arm. Not too firm, not too insistent. Just sort of... _there._

Medic wouldn’t have noticed their emergence from the foliage had Sniper not turned around to face him. They were in the shadow of the van, trees behind them. The security cameras and bright white lights were on the other side. A looming presence. But now, Medic allowed himself what little comfort there was left in the darkness.

He felt oddly different after the stroll. It had been an almost surreal experience to walk in the forest at such an odd time of the morning, or perhaps night, depending on one’s personal schedule. Returning to his reality, his life, the van and the base, the familiarity of the constant surveillance... It almost affected him as much as Sniper’s confession had.

“Sleep for me,” Sniper whispered. He let go of Medic’s arm to press his palm against his cheek.

“I’ll try,” Medic replied, pressing his own hand to the back of Sniper’s. He could feel his heat trickling through.

Sniper kissed him. He didn’t taste like salt anymore. He’d composed himself with success, so Medic knew he had to do the same. His emotions had a place with him and Sniper, but not all of them. Some things, he’d just have to keep to himself.

He knew better than to invite Sniper back to his bedroom.

“Good night,” Sniper said, his voice so quiet it was making Medic’s heart ache even more.

“Good morning,” Medic replied, forlorn but not daring to show it. He turned and returned to base without another word or glance backwards.

 

The morning was cold and the morning was lonely. Sniper hadn’t counted on how much he’d miss sleeping with another human being in the same bed, sharing their warmth and getting to indulge in mutual touches.

Sniper smacked at his clock and nearly flung it off its perch. It read _7:00_ and it was ringing. Loud. Sniper groaned, climbed out of bed and stretched his arms. To the side, not up; there wasn’t much room above him, in the van.

At least his rest had been peaceful. Not quite as pleasant as when he’d slept with Medic, but still, peaceful. Enough for him to function properly for the work day. He washed up and threw some clothes on.

“Wednesdays,” Sniper muttered to himself in disdain as he worked on his caffeine fix.

He wasn’t fond of Wednesday, never was. Too unpredictable, and yet at the same time, utterly forgettable. Being in the middle of the week and all. The beginning of the work week set the tone for the rest, the end of the work week cemented everything behind it. But Wednesday was just no fun.

_“Just give it to me! You’re going to end up killing yourself with your stupid caffeine addiction!”_

Sniper nearly spilled the water he was pouring in the reservoir, recalling Spy’s words to him. His friend had warned him about drinking coffee after Medic had performed magic on him. Sniper hadn’t had a lot of coffee recently, but damn it, he wanted some now.

He slid a filter in place, a bit concerned he was running low. That was probably because Spy would visit him occasionally, and Spy always asked Sniper to make him coffee with two filters because it would be more bitter.

“Almost as bitter as you are,” Sniper said out loud, laughing.

He remembered making that comment and Spy had huffed in indignation. But Sniper always made him a cup the way he wanted it, and then he’d make his own cup the _regular_ way.

The memories made Sniper miss his friend. It was hard enough not being able to sleep with Medic even though he’d really wanted to, but now he didn’t have the companionship of Spy to make him feel better.

He’d have to be okay before battle, wouldn’t he? Sniper shuddered. He knew the Administration was _not_ tolerant of absences from battle, no matter how many ‘sick days’ the mercs supposedly had.

It made Sniper fidget, thinking about how little he cared about fighting the war. He didn’t want to think about that, nor did he want to think about Spy’s plight.

So he picked up a magazine he’d left on the counter: the monthly Mann Co. Catalogue. Colourful pictures of weapons, hats, and assorted oddities of all kinds decorated the pages. A few items were of interest to Sniper, but he didn’t bother marking any of them down when his weapon storage was already full. Engineer had been pestering him about it, wanting to turn some of his spare rifles and blades into scrap metal, but Sniper didn’t want to sort through them to decide on which ones he’d be alright with trashing.

_Ding._

Sniper nearly dropped the magazine. He set it down on the counter before looking for his thermos. He knew it had to be lying around somewhere, somewhere... Sniper sighed, rummaging through his cabinets. He didn’t remember where he’d left it. Maybe the fridge? One blast of icy air to the face later, Sniper realized it had not been in the fridge.

“Then where the hell is it?” He asked himself, rubbing his neck. His hand ran over a familiar injury. Oh - one of Medic’s love bites. It was amazing how harsh they were and it made Sniper blush just to remember.

“There!” he exclaimed, plucking the thermos out of a drawer. He didn’t care about why it had been in the drawer in the first place.

He took it to the counter and filled it up with hot coffee. Two cubes of sugar, and it was ready for the day. Sniper clipped it to his belt and hoped Spy wouldn’t reprimand him... until he remembered that Spy might not even make it to battle and he was upset all over again about the fact.

“Bloody spook better be okay,” he grumbled. But there was no time for the immense worry that threatened to smother him; he needed to prepare for battle.

“Hm.”

He rubbed his chin and decided he could go and shower while it was still early. Only around 7:20, so that left plenty of time for just about anything he needed to do.

Sniper shrugged, grabbed his towel, soap, and some clothes - identical to the current set of uniform clothes he was wearing - and headed to base.

It was quiet, even for a work morning. That was hardly surprising when most of the team had gotten smashed during the poker game, or whatever was happening in the living room.

Sniper peeked inside. Soldier, Pyro, and Heavy were still asleep. He didn’t have the heart to bug them when they were sleeping so soundly. Soldier was snoring on the floor, Pyro and Heavy were cozy on the couch, though Pyro was still in their suit.

Sniper just continued on his way to the showers. He could hear conversation from the kitchen. The two Americans who weren’t asleep, discussing breakfast.

“Oh, c’mon Truckie! You _really_ don’t think you can make another pancake like that? Not even with some kinda machine?”

Sniper rolled his eyes, amazed at how Scout was still hung up over that pancake. He didn’t catch Engineer’s response, but he did hear a warning for Scout to shush lest he wake up their resting teammates with his loudness.

The locker room was empty, and there was no sound of any showers on. Sniper was grateful he could have a shower in peace. He gravitated towards one of the stalls in the back, turned the water on, stripped. The water was cold. As soon as it hit his skin, he was shivering.

The bar of soap was slippery in his hands as he worked up a lather and proceeded to scrub himself. He was reminded of the conversation he’d had with Medic, when he’d asked about Medic showering away from the team.

Sniper wished he could have Medic here with him. Naked, wet, cold but not for long... He growled out loud and clawed at the white ceramic tile glinting in the light.

Sniper finished his shower with haste. He grabbed his towel and dried himself off with equal haste. He did not think about Medic in an inappropriate manner, and instead focused on the methodical steps of cleaning and gutting a jackrabbit. Much better.

“Spy, get _in_ here! You’re the one who didn’t want to stay in the infirmary! If you aren’t going to shower in there, then you have to do it in here!”

“You remind me of my mother.”

“Oh, I’m- hm. I’m sorry, Herr Spy.

“She isn’t dead, you nit. How old do you think I am?”

“How _young_ did you expect me to think you are? Get in here!”

“Make me.”

“You are such a child. Watch me. See? Two steps, Spy. Two steps and you’re in the gottverdammt locker room.”

Medic turned from the door to see Sniper. Half-dressed, belt looped in but not buckled, a towel around his neck, his torso still dripping wet. Great timing.

“G’mornin’,” Sniper said, casual as possible.

Medic’s mouth was open but no words were coming out. His face was growing hot and he was holding back the very real desire to do terrible, terrible things to the marksman. Right there, right in the locker room with Spy somewhere behind him.

“Hello,” Medic replied weakly.

“You’re right, this isn’t too bad,” Spy said, holding a change of clothes in one hand. “By the way, were you going to tell me about the marks on your-”

“Jackie!” Sniper exclaimed. He turned to Medic to see the man looking aside and appearing rather flustered. Well if he wasn’t going to say anything more... Sniper went ahead and directed his attention to Spy. For the moment, he was fully capable of setting aside his baser needs to greet his best friend.

“You feelin’ any better?” Sniper asked as Spy approached, looking calm as ever.

“Oui, thank you for asking. My headache is still there, but...” Spy glanced at the silent Medic. “I am improving in condition.”

“Great to hear! Are you gonna be there in today’s battle?”

At that, Medic turned to face Spy, who grimaced.

“Oui, I will,” Spy said firmly.

“I’ll see you at breakfast then?”

Spy groaned, said, “I am _not_ agreeing to eat with our teammates.”

“Aw, c’mon. Truckie and Scout are cooking. I think. Should be a li’l something there for you to eat, too.”

“Fine. Maybe. No promises,” Spy said. He nodded at Sniper, then at Medic. “I will see you both later. Now leave me be.”

Sniper stepped aside for his friend to pass.

“Is he really fit to fight, doc?” Sniper asked as soon as Spy had headed to the back of the showers and was out of earshot. He knew his friend preferred the stalls at the back like him.

Medic winced. “He has to,” he replied. “You know that.”

Sniper did know that, had thought about it himself. But it didn’t mean he had to like it. He was quiet.

Medic was the first to speak up, clearing his throat first.

“Are you going to... you know? Dress?” he asked.

Sniper grunted. He took a step towards the doctor. His voice was low when he responded, “Nothin’ you haven’t seen before, right?”

Medic shut his eyes. “Don’t tempt me, Herr Sniper. Not here. Not now.”

_Or I will ravage you._

He was startled by the sound of Sniper’s loud bark of laughter.

“Don’t worry, doc. ‘M not gonna be like that,” he said, flashing a toothy grin.

The sight of Sniper smiling - and topless - made Medic’s heart skip a beat. He hoped, rather fervently, that it wasn’t too obvious.

Sniper pecked his cheek. He was even more nervous than Medic was, considering his confession during the stroll just a few hours prior. But he didn’t want to make things awkward. He didn’t want to grow distant.

Medic didn’t know what to say. He was still a little hurt, stinging. But at least Sniper was still sweet to him...

“You gonna shower, doc?”

“Ah... no, I already did in the infirmary.”

Sniper cocked his head. “A shame,” he said. He licked his lips. “Woulda liked to see.”

Medic’s eyes widened. “Sniper!” he hissed. He’d been thrown off guard by the comment. Had he been less aroused, he might’ve been able to shrug the comment off and scoff, maybe roll his eyes. He’d done the very same to Scout’s (possibly) joking advances in the past before, after all. And yet...

“Just teasin’ you,” Sniper chuckled. “You told me why you don’t shower with us.”

 _Because you turn me on,_ Medic thought.

“I’m tellin’ ya, ‘Dhan! He could do it again if he just had enough pancake batter to try.”

“Ach, do I really have to ask you not to call me that? And you know you can wait until you get _in_ the locker room before takin’ your shirt off, laddie!”

Scout’s voice was closer than Demoman’s. He entered with towel slung over his shoulder and clothing bundle in one bandage-wrapped hand.

He noticed Sniper and Medic facing each other but looking at him. Their body language made it clear he’d just interrupted something.

“‘Sup?” he asked, in an effort to sound nonchalant and _not_ like he was curious whether or not the two had just been making out or something.

“Nothin’ much,” Sniper responded, shrugging.

“Guten morgen, Herr Scout,” Medic said, staring at him.

Scout looked down then back up with a grin on his face of the insufferable variety.

“What, ya like what you see? Heh, Sniper not enough for ya? I mean, I do have these sick abs.”

Medic’s nose wrinkled in distaste. “Don’t flatter yourself,” he snapped, inwardly semi-offended that Scout would imply he was any ‘more’ than Sniper.

Sniper laughed, Scout pouted.

“Fine, but when you come runnin’ back to _this_ perfection, don’t cry when I tell ya ‘no’,” he said, smacking Medic’s arm with his towel as he headed to his locker.

“Don’t count on it,” Medic muttered when Scout left for the showers.

“Harsh,” Sniper commented.

“Hardly,” Medic said, turning back to the marksman. He gave him a quick-once over and thought a silent thank you to the heavens for bestowing such a delicious sight upon him, no matter how brief it’d inevitably be.

Sniper was tall and he was lean, yes, but he had a bit of paunch to his stomach. Frankly, Medic was fine with that. Sniper did not have the chiseled, toned abs of Scout, or even the slightly less toned abs of himself, but... he was still very, very attractive.

“G’mornin’, Demo,” Sniper called as the Scotsman entered.

“Aye,” Demoman replied with a wave.

“I’ll see you both later,” Medic said, in a sudden hurry to get out.

“What’re you even doin’ in here?”

“I was just seeing to Spy and ensuring he goes to take a shower,” Medic replied neatly. “Oh, by the way, can you make sure he actually does it?”

Demoman gave a grunt, said, “You know he doesn’ae like bein’ bothered in the showers or even if we take the stall beside ‘im. You shoulda gotten Scout to check; the lad can take a punch or stab.”

Medic pursed his lips. He put a hot gloved hand on Sniper’s shoulder.

“Ask Scout if Spy actually showered.”

With the minor responsibility lifted off his shoulders, Demoman gave a laugh and went to shower.

“Wh- _me?_ Why Scout?”

“Scout is almost as nosy as Spy is. He will not lie to you about this if you ask, and he will not be wrong either. Just come and tell me after battle if Spy did it or not. Because if not, I will have to force him and you know he will not enjoy that.”

Sniper sighed, rubbing his wet hair with the towel. “Don’t see why this is such a big deal, but fine doc, I’ll do it.”

Medic gave him a smile. “Sehr gut. I’ll see you later.”

“See you,” Sniper said, watching him go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \\\ 1. I had to request assistance in relation to being told how coffee makers work.  
> 2\. Sniper is that one person on your friends list who never scraps their duplicate weapons, crates, or anything, and would buy Backpack Expanders just to hold onto everything instead of deleting it.  
> 3\. I can't wait to connect the current story junk to stuff I've had prepared for like, a month or two. It's going to be fun times. :^)  
> EDIT: 4. [Sniper body headcanons? Sniper body headcanons.](http://bisexual-legislature.tumblr.com/post/108107873259/wake-up-sniper-its-time-2-talk-about-body)


	15. Trees

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you consider Medic an enigma, even at this point in the story? //

It really _was_ cold out. Had Medic not been so active, running about on the field with heavy equipment attached to him, he might’ve actually felt the cold. As it was, he just felt the dampness from the rain. Though it was light, it had been persisting for just about the whole morning. The trip to the battlefield itself had been rather dry, but as soon as the mercs arrived, the heavens cracked open.

Medic was not one to be deterred by rain. He never was. The entirety of the teams’ stay on Nightfall had been a rather damp one - especially compared to the desert - but Medic was adaptable. That was part of what marked him useful.

He knew he was useful.

A shout of surprise and spray of blood marked his pocket dead. Damn. He’d have to find another one. His white coat was splattered with entrails and giblets from the now-dead Soldier. Orange grenades thudded against the wet dirt and Medic retreated.

The BLU Demoman was hot on his trail, launching pipes glowing blue. Medic sidestepped one and jumped over another. His movements were swift, always swift. Always enough to keep him alive. His white coat fluttered in the breeze as he snagged the bottle of health behind one of the large rocks.

A harsh scraping of metal on stone filled the air as Medic whipped his saw out and hit the rock with it. Sparks flew and died upon contact with raindrops. He dropped his Medi Gun and let it hit the ground.

Medic’s mind was going a million miles a second, he was so out of it, so out of the battle and yet...

_Krrrrrghhkkkkk._

The point of the saw dug into the BLU’s chest. Further, further - clean through his torso. Medic’s arm muscles tensed as he withdrew the weapon, bloodied, and let the Demoman’s corpse fall to the ground.

“Hmph,” Medic muttered, reattaching his saw to his belt and nudging his glasses back up on the bridge of his nose.

“Medic!”

Medic whipped around at the sound of his class name being called. He picked his Medi Gun up and turned to the sound of the voice. Demoman’s. His own team’s, of course.

“Jawohl!” Medic replied as his friend turned the corner. He focused the healing beam on him.

“Thanks, doc,” Demoman said with a nod.

Medic nodded back and took his position behind the explosives expert.

He felt a gnawing sense of guilt within him at the sight of his best friend. He knew he hadn’t practiced any more magic on Sniper or Spy, but the state of affairs had not exactly been left in a fine place. Spy was suffering from a magic-induced fever-headache, and he’d been forced to spend his evenings and nights in the infirmary. Sniper was affected in ways that had not yet revealed themselves to be outwardly bad, but... Medic was still worried. And here he was. Behind his friend, unable to speak a word about what was _really_ going on between him and Sniper.

“Incoming!” Demoman warned, popping a few pills out of his Loch ‘n’ Load.

The cart wasn’t in sight as the two made their way across mid, but they weren’t trying to flank the BLUs; their team had been pushed back, back behind their cart. The BLU cart was around mid but they were a bit occupied defending their own point. In any case, nobody was pushing it behind Demoman and Medic, so Medic supposed that was one small issue off of his mind for the moment.

“Soldier combo ahead!” Demoman yelled.

Medic’s nose wrinkled. He did not _want_ to deal with the enemy combo. He wanted to just help Demoman get some kills, but now he’d have to get into mental battle mode and focus if he wanted his friend to survive the fight.

True to Demo’s words, the BLU Soldier was coming up the hill with Medic right behind him. He was wielding his Beggar’s Bazooka, and the BLU Medic had his Medi Gun.

Medic cursed under his breath. He had his Medi Gun too, but he’d been doing a horrid job keeping track of the enemy’s charge. He knew his own was about a third of the way through, but on full overheal, he wasn’t sure how fast the meter would tick up.

Demoman launched his pipes, the BLU Soldier shot his rockets. It was quite a loud spectacle with the two pockets aiming at each other and the Medics giving each other dirty looks from behind.

And then there was Sniper. Coming up - _limping_ up - from the left doorway bleeding all over the wet wood. His Tribalman’s Shiv was dripping with blood but small gashes also covered his person. He was limping. He was calling for Medic. Probably more out of habit than the vain hope that he’d actually run into the Medic. But... Medic was right there.

“Over here!” Medic called. He ducked, narrowing avoiding a rocket that exploded behind him.

Sniper’s attention was flagged and he stumbled over. There was a deep cut on his thigh, probably the explanation for his clumsy walk. He spotted the BLU combo and dropped the shiv for his trusty rifle. It would’ve been hard to miss the two.

 _Hurry,_ Medic thought. _Don’t bleed out. Please._

Sniper nearly collapsed, but he managed his way to Medic’s side. Before he even deigned to ask for a heal, he pressed the scope of the rifle to his wet aviators and took aim.

Everything happened so quickly.

The BLU Medic cried out in pain and surprise as the bullet connected with his hip. But in the precious few seconds it took for Medic to get Sniper _partially_ healed, Demoman was bounced up by one of the Bazooka’s rockets. Had the BLU Soldier been using any other launcher, Demoman would’ve been able to bounce back just as quickly. Had his aim been any less fortunate, Demoman might’ve been able to dodge the second rocket, hurtling through the air. As things turned out, the BLU Soldier _had_ been using the Beggar’s Bazooka, and two of the three rockets that came out did land on the Demoman, and naturally, the one that blew him up was a critical hit.

Medic wailed in horror as he was hit with another rain of blood and giblets. He heard Sniper growl something next to him. He felt a crushing sense of guilt, he felt... he felt his Medi Gun humming as it neared its Übercharge. Not near enough to pop it.

The BLU Soldier was reloading his Bazooka. Sniper finished the BLU Medic off. A mercy kill, a bullet to the head. He was thrown off his feet by one of the BLU’s rockets hitting the earth. Medic hopped back, shoving his Medi Gun to his backpack and pulling out his Syringe Gun.

Sniper aimed an unscoped shot and missed. One of his legs - the upper half - was drenched in blood, accented by bits and pieces of shrapnel. He was acutely aware of Medic’s presence at his side, but he wasn’t sure why Medic looked so scared for once. Then again, one could say that it was due to his negligence that Demoman had to fall to the critical rocket. Sniper missed another shot and frowned. He didn’t blame Medic for healing him.

Needles were launched and connected, but the BLU Soldier wasn’t backing down. He could see two easy kills in front of him and even though his own Medic had died, he had no reason to stop pursuing the REDs.

“Fall back,” Medic whispered.

Sniper took the advice even as Medic braced himself, reloading his Syringe Gun.

“Doc, c’mon!” Sniper yelled, grabbing the back of Medic’s pack and yanking him away from the path of a rocket. Another blew Sniper to the side, detonating at his feet. He almost fell over, but he managed to right himself.

Sniper looked over his shoulder. None of his teammates were there, but respawn... it was reachable, not too far behind them. If only Medic would just _move._ But he was so focused he wasn’t even focused; his needles were hitting more air than flesh. Sniper was a few steps away, to his right, but he could tell Medic’s aim was off. His arms were aching and his legs were on fire, but damn it, he would not let the Medic fall now.

Medic looked like a deer in headlights. Nigh motionless, though still firing his Syringe Gun. Had the BLU Soldier been just a little closer, he would’ve been able to just melee Medic to death.

A little further. Just a few more steps back! The BLU had reloaded his clip with three rockets. Sniper’s eyes widened. He tackled Medic backwards, into the dirt.

“Fucking retreat!” Sniper yelled, jarring the doctor back into the present, into reality. He gritted his teeth and pressed Medic down to the ground. This would hurt.

As soon as Sniper was blown up on top of him, Medic scrambled to his feet and ran back into respawn. He was _covered_ in blood. He wasn’t sure what to feel. Guilt for inadvertently getting Demoman killed? Arousal for all the blood and from the lingering, brief memory of Sniper on top of him, his weight, his heat, his musk? Tired from the fight and the rain?

Medic fell to his knees, clutching the door to the resupply cabinet. His gloves left streaks of blood behind as he caught his breath.

Tired. Tired would best describe his current predicament.

“Ah, fick,” he groaned, clutching the cabinet door’s handle.

Medic patched himself up with ease. He had the Medi Gun, and even better, he had several bottles of resupply pills to toss down his throat.

He wondered idly if the BLU Soldier was camping the entrance. Maybe it’d be a good idea to wait for Demoman to respawn... it’d only take five more minutes or so.

“My team needs me,” Medic murmured. He shut the door to the resupply cabinet. He went through his quick self-check for battle, adjusting his uniform, his pack, the dials on his Medi Gun.

“There. Perfect,” he declared, hefting his gun. A peek out of respawn told him that the BLU Soldier had moved on. Where he was now, Medic wasn’t sure. He just wanted to find a new pocket and start charging his Über.

He sighed, jogging up to mid point. His footfalls were light over the mud.

“Hey, doc!”

Medic turned at the sound of Sniper’s voice. Summoning _him,_ no less.

“Ja!” Medic called, giving a small wave.

Sniper approached him and Medic focused his beam on the man. Who was smiling for some reason. And wielding his Tribalman’s Shiv.

Medic nodded at the blade, asked, “Did you kill the enemy Spy?”

Sniper shook his head in response. “Bugger got away,” he said, holding it up.

“I see. And... did you ask... him?” Medic asked.

Sniper hesitated, so Medic turned to face him.

“Well?” the Medic prompted, frowning.

It took him a second too long to realize the look on the marksman’s face was confusion, not any sort of guilt or evidence or carelessness. In the wasted moment it took for Medic to pull his Übersaw out, the man in front of him had already sidestepped the thrust.

Medic growled. His blade had cut through the vest, but only just. Sniper had his hands up and his eyes wide.

“Gonna explain what _that_ was about?” Sniper asked, raising an eyebrow.

Medic peered into his eyes. Familiar. Heterochromatic, which was hard to tell through the aviators and the rain. But it still made him falter.

“I-I thought...” Medic stammered. “I thought you were a Spy.” He shook his head, rubbed his eyes.

Sniper exhaled. “You seem like you’ve been stressed, doc,” he said, sounding heart-wrenchingly concerned. He put a hand on Medic’s shoulder, making him shiver at the touch.

“I’m always stressed,” he replied quietly, leaning closer.

“There, there,” Sniper said, patting him gently.

Medic’s eyes fluttered. He was vaguely aware of where they were standing. Around mid, in the ‘shack’. Apparently a place where nobody else on either team was. So... it wouldn’t hurt to make a move, right? Something quick, short, sweet.

He was about to give Sniper a little peck on the cheek when he felt a sharp pain flare between his shoulder blades.

He recoiled, eyes wide in fear as he stumbled backwards. He made eye contact with the BLU Spy whose Sniper disguise was fading away. The brief moment of eye contact with the Sniper disguise made Medic _glad._ Infinitely glad that the real Sniper _never_ had such coldness and open contempt in his eyes.

“Ah, it appears that I missed your spine,” the Spy said.

Medic choked. He could feel his vision growing blurry, slowly going. Even worse than the pain, the agonizing death... were the tears in his eyes.

He felt _betrayed._ Utterly betrayed. It was something that the enemy Spy’s disguises used to make him feel, especially when he was disguised as the Demoman. But it had been a long war, and Medic had grown to deal with it. And yet now the hurt was hitting him full force.

It wasn’t as if Sniper himself had been the cause of his pain just now, but it felt so bad to see the Spy - as Sniper - look at him that way... As if he was nothing but a _target._

Medic fell to his knees. The Medi Gun thudded loudly against the wooden floor.

Oh god, that look in his eyes. Medic felt like he wasn’t just any target. He was an _unworthy_ one.

The Spy peered at him expectantly. He showed no desire to hasten Medic’s inevitable death. So the doctor lunged forward and grabbed his shin. He dug his gloved fingers into the slim BLU’s leg.

The action made the enemy Spy curse in French. He kicked at Medic’s hand, spitting foreign expletives all the while. Finally, he landed a kick on Medic’s side, planting his foot firmly in the doctor’s ribcage.

Medic gave a low groan and rolled over, clutching his chest in pain.

“Just _die_ already!” Spy yelled.

“Not on my watch.”

Medic didn’t have enough energy to look up when his consciousness was slipping away. His body was trying to keep him alive even as he tried to will himself to _die already._ He wanted to end the torture, the fire in his back, in his torso.

There were a few small gunshots. Then there was a very loud, very big gunshot that echoed.

The Spy fell to the floor, hissing in anger. He glared up at his aggressor.

“Mongrel,” the Sniper snarled. He then twirled his blade in a teasing, taunting gesture.

“You can kill me, but _I_ will still kill _le docteur.”_

Sniper’s eyes widened. He saw the enemy Spy take aim at Medic’s head, lying on the floor, with his revolver.

Sniper threw himself down onto the BLU. There were no second thoughts. The shot rang impossibly loud in the marksman’s ears. His Shiv was embedded firmly in the Spy’s abdomen, but what about the state of Medic?

“Doc?” Sniper asked, climbing off of the BLU Spy’s bleeding cadaver.

The doctor gave a plaintive wail, making Sniper flinch.

“He hit my _thigh,_ Robin,” the doctor gasped. Tears were streaming down his face, a rare sight no matter the situation in battle.

“Shit, don’t worry, the health’s right-” Sniper began. He cut himself off when he turned to the wooden ledge in the shack to see that the bottle of pills was conspicuously absent from its perch.

"Shit, shit, shit,” Sniper muttered, rubbing his neck. He felt scarred flesh and faded bruises.

“Dead Ringer,” Medic coughed. He paused. “Do me a favour.”

“Yeah?”

_”Kill me.”_

“Doc that’s a proper terrible idea and you know it. You self-heal. The Medi Gun’s right here...”

“Please, I don’t want to wait to recover from this. It’ll take too long. Send me to respawn. The Spy _will_ be back for you. For _us,_ if you don’t.”

Sniper winced at the truth in his words. The adrenaline running through him was nauseating and it didn’t allow him to think of any other ideas. He scooched over to Medic lying on the floor, and picked him up. Medic allowed himself to be draped over Sniper’s lap.

“Sweet dreams, doc,” Sniper murmured. The Medic’s eyes were closed but he smiled before Sniper stabbed him. The wooden shiv ran right through.

As soon as that was done, Sniper set the doctor’s body down carefully. He pulled the bloody shiv out and he got up.

“Touching,” came from a smoky voice.

Sniper growled, his grip on his shiv tightening.

“Back for more so soon?” Sniper asked, walking up to the ledge where the pill bottle had regenerated.

The Spy was sitting there beside the bottle. One of his elbows rested on an upright knee, his other leg dangled beneath the ledge.

Sniper cried out in sheer rage. He lunged forward with the Shiv in hand.

A spurt of blood flew from Spy’s back and the red droplets fell from the wooden ledge.

The dreadful sound of the Dead Ringer uncloak made Sniper’s eyes narrow. The BLU Spy reappeared in front of him, on the ground.

“Try again,” he said, sounding genuinely disappointed as he strode over to the nearest pill bottle. He was leaning against the big rock when he turned back to Sniper and cocked his head. It was a silent but clear invitation.

“Fine,” Sniper muttered under his breath. He dropped down from the ledge and approached the Spy.

“Lookin’ pretty calm for a bloke who’s about to die.”

The BLU Spy blinked, unimpressed with the implied threat. He saw the first thrust coming and stepped to the side, watching wooden, jagged blade collide with stone.

“Too slow,” he taunted, whipping his knife out. He unfolded with ease mid-step, and pointed the tip to the angry Sniper.

“Are you the kookaburra, or are you the dingo?” he asked, smirking.

“Don’t toss around the names of Australian animals you know bloody squat about,” Sniper snapped. He swung his blade and missed. As soon as it sliced through air and little more, he knew he’d overextended his arm.

Spy pressed forward and kicked Sniper’s knee hard. The marksman was forced to step back.

Spy pushed towards him. He brought his right arm out, under Sniper’s left arm, and worked it around to land a clean backstab.

“Is that age dulling your reflexes? Or have you always been this slow, mon ami?” Spy asked, withdrawing his arm and kicking Sniper’s stomach.

The marksman fell to the earth and felt the knife pierce upwards. He coughed up blood, sputtered loudly.

“Perhaps you will do better next time,” Spy said with a distinct air of superiority.

“You son of a... _ghhrk...”_ Sniper rasped. He could feel raindrops hitting the warm blood on his chest, cleaning the metal tip of the knife blade protruding from his flesh.

“A shame I only had the time to watch _one_ of you bleed out,” Spy said, lighting a cigarette. “But I should really get going now.”

Sniper gave a defiant snarl, tried to convey his immense fury through a flamethrower glare.

The BLU Spy flicked the cigarette onto Sniper’s bloody chest. It fizzled out quickly in the rain, but that didn’t matter right before death.

Sniper’s vision faded to black as the BLU Spy stepped over him and escaped.

_Sorry I couldn’t save you, doc._

 

The post-battle mood was abysmal. Absolutely black. It was so bad that even Scout didn’t have the energy to cheer everyone up. To his credit, he did make an attempt.

“We have tomorrow,” the runner had said.

“Well we lost almost every round _today,”_ Spy had muttered, rubbing his forehead.

Scout got the point and eventually retreated to his room.

Medic had taken Spy back to the infirmary, murmuring quiet conversation to him.

Demoman and Soldier went to drink, and Sniper was sure they’d eventually blow something up. Sooner or later, it was a guarantee. Engineer had taken Heavy and Pyro on the long drive to town, saying they’d go grocery shopping. Then maybe hit up the bar.

“You can come too, Stretch. Reckon you could use a drink or two. Up for it?” he’d offered Sniper before leaving.

“Nah, feelin’ a little tired. Might take a nap. Thanks though, Truckie,” he’d replied.

Engineer tipped his hard hat in understanding. Sniper had watched them drive off from a living room window before he, too, set to do his own thing.

Admittedly, he didn’t have much to do. His evenings were often spent side-by-side with Spy, lamenting the collective ineptitude of every non-Support class on their team. Sometimes a drink was involved - but only for Sniper, of course.

Now that Sniper was on his own, so to speak, he had the chance to tend to himself, and himself only. He busied himself with replacing his leather rifle strap. That had been a task he’d wanted to finish up for some time, as it had been fraying.

When that was done, Sniper did feel a little better. He picked at his precious rifle, cleaning it, then polishing it with great care.

He’d never seen a good reason to mourn a day’s loss, no matter how badly his team had lost. Never had one team, RED or BLU, really come out on top of the other. In the grand scheme of things, they were evenly matched.

RED had ‘won’ Badwater Basin, Dustbowl, and Thunder Mountain back in the Badlands. BLU had ‘won’ Gravelpit, 2Fort, and Goldrush back in the Badlands, along with Coldfront. One team or the other was going to ‘win’ Nightfall.

Sniper knew that all he had to worry about was doing his own job well. If he continued sniping like the professional he was, the hired assassin sharpshooter he was, then the cheques would keep rolling in. And no questions would be asked.

Life was simpler than many outsiders tended to see it, especially the townies whom Spy often dubbed simpleminded, no matter from which town they came from. It was rare that they managed to strike up a conversation with any merc, but... Sniper recalled one woman from the Teufort bar talking about how dreadful the gravel war was. Sniper hadn’t really thought it was dreadful at all. He remembered that Medic had been there, and hammered to boot.

“You don’t understand, fraulein,” he’d slurred to her, throwing an arm over Sniper’s shoulder. He’d tipped his near-empty glass towards her face, and added, “We are good at what we do. Death is a _trivial_ thing.”

Sniper chuckled to himself because he still agreed with drunk Medic’s words. That little Teufort bar hadn’t been the finest place to make any memories, but Sniper supposed that Medic had always had a special sort of impact on him.

Sniper had definitely removed Medic’s arm from his shoulders because the man was more unsettling as a drunk than when he was sober. Less threatening in some ways, but the unpredictability of drunk Medic was too much.

“You don’t scare me anymore, doc,” Sniper mumbled, rubbing the scope of his rifle with a rag.

“In fact, I kinda miss the company,” he sighed.

Sniper set the rifle and the rag down on his bed. He reached under his pillow for Medic’s note. It was still folded. Sniper hadn’t wanted to undo the doctor’s firm creases on the paper for some reason. He held it for a moment longer before sliding it back into place.

Sniper got up and pulled his vest on. There was no reason to mope around _waiting._ Medic had given him a kind of confidence in relation to the doctor himself. In any case, Sniper was very much able to push aside all qualms about visiting.

He strode into base and did not entertain the whispers of anxiety lurking in the darkest recesses of his mind.

Sniper knocked loudly before pulling the infirmary door open.

“Hey, doc,” he called.

“Shh!” was the response.

Medic was at his desk, pen in hand. He glanced over at Spy, who was asleep on the same cot as before.

“Don’t wake him, bitte,” Medic said, voice low as he watched Sniper approach.

“Sorry, didn’t know he was in here and uh, asleep.” Sniper cocked his head. “Never seen you use a pen before, doc.”

Medic rolled his eyes, replied, “The Demoman insisted. He gave me ten to use and hadn’t bothered to mention that five of them don’t even work.”

Sniper snickered, covering his mouth with gloved hand to tamp down the desire to laugh. Medic looked so irritated at the writing instrument, so personally offended. Had he been glaring any harder, he might’ve been able to set it on fire.

Sniper walked right up to Medic at his post.

“C’mere,” he whispered, bending down to cup the doctor’s face in rough palms and giving him a gentle kiss.

Medic hummed softly, pleased. He pressed back, letting his lips be parted by Sniper’s. He felt hands release from his cheeks and start to press against his chest instead.

Medic broke away. “Wait,” he gasped, taking firm hold of Sniper’s wrists.

“Something wrong, love?” Sniper asked. His eyes were hazy, half-lidded. Filled with desire for Medic, it was a look in his eyes just for Medic... But Medic had to stop him.

“We can’t,” he said, brushing a hand along Sniper’s jawline.

“I-I have to tend to Spy. I have to check on his condition every five minutes or so, to keep him... stable.”

Sniper looked disappointed as he pulled away.

“Alright, doc,” he said.

Medic ran his fingers through Sniper’s hair and kissed him again, tasting lips, tongue, teeth.

“Knock, knock, doc!”

Sniper pulled himself away so quickly that Medic was startled. Almost as startled as he was by the impromptu greeting from the door.

“Herr Scout,” he replied, turning in his chair. “What brings you were?”

“The hell do you think, man? If I ain’t gonna entertain Spy, then who- oh.”

Sniper squinted, wondering if we should take offence to any of that.

“Nevermind, didn’t know Snipes was here. I thought you were gonna nap? You do that a lot after battle.”

“I know,” Sniper replied, straightening himself.

Scout quirked a smile. “Y’know, just ‘cause we lost doesn’t mean we can’t take a break.”

Sniper grunted. “Stayin’ in the infirmary is break enough.”

“Dunno if I’d call this place good for a break, but whatever you say.”

“I take offence to that,” Medic muttered, getting up from his chair.

Scout took a few steps back, raising his arms in defence as Medic strode past him. But he wasn’t heading for Scout, he was heading for Spy’s cot.

“How’s he doin’?” Scout asked, daring to approach.

Medic pursed his lips, contemplating a response. “Okay,” was all he could think to say. “He needs his rest now. Don’t be too loud.”

Scout huffed and rolled his eyes. “I can be quiet if I wanna,” he replied.

Medic shook his head. “Alright,” he said. “There’s water in the fridge if you want any.”

“Hey, hold on,” Scout said. “Can I ask why Spy’s in here?”

Medic stiffened visibly. Sniper turned to face Scout, speechless and glad he didn’t have to reply.

“Do you remember when he bled all over your checkers game?” Medic asked, his voice strained.

“Yeah, the board’s still got blood on it, don’tcha remember?”

“...Sure. Well being hit with magic is bad. Now he has a bad headache. That’s it,” Medic said.

Scout squinted at the shoddy explanation. He decided not to press the issue further because Medic looked uncomfortable answering. So he shrugged and plopped himself down on the end of Spy’s bed.

Medic was tempted to reprimand the runner, but he managed to hold his tongue.

“Did you see the new kit I got? I was thinkin’ ‘bout puttin’ it on my Pistol so we could have matching ones that shine red,” Scout said, looking up at Medic.

Sniper was lost as Medic and Scout dove into a conversation about their weapons. He was still just standing there, feeling pretty weird about not having a place in the chat. But the feeling disappeared as his own thoughts wandered.

He thought about Medic. He thought about Medic pretty often. It was hard not to, when he’d spent so much time with the man over the past few days. He managed to push away the little scraps of guilt and sadness hanging around thoughts of Medic, and focus on... the touches. The words. The... feelings. Whatever the feelings were, they were there, and they were strong.

Sniper looked down and saw nothing. His head spun. It was really nice doing heated things with Medic in secret. It was really, really nice. Sometimes Sniper craved it. But what was even better than the sex?

For some reason, Sniper couldn’t shake the memories of the time Medic had cooked for him. Humming at the stove. Oddly content, even though cooking wasn’t exactly in his job description. Medic had other things he preferred to do, like actual _medical_ tasks, or unorthodox experimentation, or magic and potion-brewing. But... he’d looked so... glad, almost, to be cooking for Sniper, who’d been his patient at that time. After he’d healed Sniper with magic, too. And Sniper knew that doing magic required quite a bit of energy, as evidenced by the time Medic had passed out after fixing Spy. And, and... Medic had still cooked him a meal. It hadn’t been spectacular. Far from it, actually. It had been pretty basic, as far as meals in base went. Edible food, pretty good, pretty filling, but that was about it. Nothing special.

Except for the fact that Medic had personally made it for him.

Sniper felt tightness in his chest just thinking about it. That small gesture from the doctor was sweet, and that was undeniable. He cared enough about Sniper’s well-being and everything to cook for him. It made Sniper really happy.

It also made him sad.

Would he ever have a moment like that again with Medic? Maybe so, but it wouldn’t be the same. Not because of the situation or because the feelings wouldn’t be the same, but because now Sniper was aware he was _stuck._ Now he knew he’d never be able to have that kind of moment without remembering... The war. Everything that came between him and having a life with any semblance of normalcy.

Sniper frowned.

He had nothing against the life in the war. Nothing beyond the regular complaints of daily hard work and _dying_ a lot. It was a very well-paying job and he never grew bored. He wasn’t stagnant even when he spent many months helping defend or detonate one site. He never stopped doing something exciting and yet he still missed ‘normal’ life.

It was kind of unfair.

What more could he ask for? It didn’t matter how many melee fights he’d been in with the BLU Spy, or how many times he got headshots on the BLU Medic when he had full Übercharge ready. It was always something Sniper was proud of, always something that filled him with adrenaline and excitement and even though he didn’t win every battle, that didn’t matter.

He didn’t hate the war.

He hated the fact the war was his life now. He didn’t have the option to just quit and get to go home, have a cup of coffee. Maybe read a book. No, he couldn’t do that now. He’d signed up with RED and he wasn’t going to be let go if it could be helped. He knew too much. In the grand scheme of things, Sniper was pretty sure he didn’t know that much. But he knew enough.

Sniper huffed, feeling rather bitter.

He’d been over this topic with Spy before. It wasn’t like he’d always wanted to leave. In fact, he’d dealt with his issues just fine. He’d gleaned plenty of good memories from his time both in battle and relaxing with the team. Campfires, barbeques, even the trips to town to buy a loaf of bread and carton of eggs. But he knew he had to hold on to how he’d enjoyed all of that, because he wasn’t going to get to go back out into the ‘normal’ world to enjoy what it had to offer. And though Spy had accepted that from day one, Sniper had his doubts. He often had doubts about his decisions; joining RED was just one of them.

And he made a mistake in not paying attention to what he was doing. Not just in the past, but at the present moment. He didn’t even notice as the conversation stumbled to a halt.

“...Herr Sniper, are you leaving?”

“What?” Sniper asked, out of reflex from hearing his class name.

“Are you leaving now?” Medic repeated, raising an eyebrow.

“Uh,” Sniper replied. He had a palm on the window, a few cots down from Medic and Scout. He’d pushed the blinds aside to get his hand on the cool glass surface.

“If you would be so kind to get your hand off of the window, bitte,” Medic added.

Sniper removed his hand and took a breath. He realized he was sweating and he felt nauseous.

“Yeah, ‘m gonna go and... check on... something,” he said, trailing off.

At that, Medic looked concerned. “Come back if you need to,” he said.

“Okay bye,” Sniper said, itching to get out.

“Sniper, wait,” Medic said, turning around.

Sniper paused and waited.

“Are you... feeling alright?” Medic asked. Even Scout, peeking out from behind him, looked kind of worried.

_Get out, get out, get out._

“‘M fine, just gonna go now,” Sniper said.

_Get._

“Are you sure?”

_Out._

“‘M sure.”

_Fresh air._

“You don’t sound sure.”

_Outdoors._

“‘M pretty sure ‘m fine, doc.”

_Forest._

“...Okay. I’ll see you later.”

_Trees._

“Bye.”

_Run away._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \\\ So the Gun Mettle update. The comic was good because it featured my wife, Miss Pauling. But they nerfed the BFB, which was the main gun I used for my main class, Scout. I'm salty as hell and I've already obtained a Strange Scattergun.
> 
> Rest in peace, "hey doctah". You were a good Professional Killstreak Strange Baby Face's Blaster while I had you, and we made some sick kills together. You will be missed, and cherished dearly for the rest of your virtual existence. Forgive me as I lay you down in a velvet-lined coffin. Our time with each other is now over. Perhaps one day I will pick you up again, but for now... it's best we go our separate ways.


	16. Sketch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "What happened with Sniper all those months ago Kissen?"
> 
> Well now you can stop asking. //

There was rain. Falling hard from the dark clouds above, growing thicker. There was an intrinsic tone of fear to be felt when the sky got like that in the evening. Rain at night meant it was harder to find one’s way around outside, and it was far colder than rain during the morning or afternoon.

Then again, the sky was hardly visible in the forest, and the rain’s effect was dulled. Water droplets hung in precarious balance upon swaths of pine needles. Deep, emerald green, the heady sharp smell somehow amplified by the weather. Few raindrops passed the tree canopy to hit the ground when the layer of greenery was so thick; most of them collided with branch or pine.

Sniper looked up, disturbing several branches directly above his head. They spilled water onto his slouch hat and he didn’t care. The path ahead was partially obscured by fog. He couldn’t see very far, but he could see enough in the little light there was left. He wasn’t sure where he was going. There was nausea swirling in the pit of his stomach and the marksman knew... no matter how far he went, he couldn’t outrun feelings _within_ him.

Sniper exhaled, shaky, and stretched his arm out to clutch at bark. The trunk closest to his palm was what it rested upon. It wasn’t a far reach.

His head was spinning. He was sweating, though that was hardly noticeable in the dampness of his surroundings. He was shaking. He could feel his heart pounding so fast it was making him sick, sicker than he already was.

His nails dug into wet bark and he retched. The splatter of his meagre stomach contents against the ground was impossibly loud to him.

Sniper wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and tapped a branch for water to help clean it off. There was a lot of water around him. He was starting to grow cold from being wet.

He did not think about where he was going. He did not think about how long he’d been gone. He just didn’t have much to think about at all. He couldn’t - not when his thoughts wouldn’t remain linear. They didn’t knit together.

Perhaps the issue was less in the lack of potential thoughts, and more in the surplus.

He moved on, not wanting to have to stomach the nasty sight of his own vomit.

The land shifted, the trees shifted, everything shifted. It was that slow, gradual way nature tended to change, step by step, tree root by leaf by stem. Pieces of green by pieces of brown.

Sniper tried to avoid trampling any plants underfoot.

He knew where he was going even if he wasn’t paying attention. He did not wander far. That made him laugh a little, rather bitterly.

With striking clarity, he recalled the days of when the mercs had first arrived at Nightfall. And because he could remember that, he shifted his tangled mess of a thought train over to those memories.

He’d been annoyed, for starters. His team hadn’t; they’d ‘won’ Thunder Mountain just a few days prior, so morale was high for everyone. But Sniper was already missing the Badlands and the desert heat, because Nightfall’s mountain sky had greeted the teams with a lovely cold shower. Of snow. For the start of winter.

Sniper had been bloody miserable that whole night, not even bothering with unpacking his things from his van. His room at base could wait. He knew he would’ve stayed there for dinner, too, had Spy not dragged him into base for a proper meal with the other REDs.

And... the next day. The mercs weren’t fighting yet, as everyone was still settling in. Customary poker games and barbeques were in order before resuming the war, obviously. Sniper had taken the free time to take a look around. The environment had been muddy and wet, but the marksman had been pleasantly impressed. There was plenty of wilderness to indulge in. He could escape, he could _breathe,_ he found solace amidst the trees.

That made Sniper huff, the memories of his initial Nightfall discoveries. The woods in the area were nice, they really were. Didn’t mean anything to Sniper, whose knowledge rested in the desert, but it was enough for him.

Was it enough now? He looked up and felt a few raindrops hit his face and aviators. He was still shaking, from both cold and anxiety. He squeezed his eyes shut.

It wasn’t.

His gloved hand fisted his shirt at his stomach, where another knot was forming. He felt so, so sick. His head spun and he couldn’t think, couldn’t think, could only think, could only distract himself from... from everything and... and...

_”Have you seen the sunrise yet? Spy often tells me how much you liked watching it in the Badlands... perhaps if you get to see it now, you will feel a little less, ah, homesick. For want of a better term.”_

Sniper blinked. Those were Medic’s words in his head. During the first week of battle on Nightfall, Sniper hadn’t been able to do shit. He didn’t know the map, and sniping was difficult with the fog and snow being so damn persistent. It had been far too easy to land in the infirmary, scratched up and bruised from a tussle with the enemy Spy.

Sniper had only managed the upper hand because his team had won that round right as they were really getting into their fight. It was easier to dispatch an enemy in a melee fight when they were suddenly out of a melee weapon.

But it had been an end-of-the-round fight well-fought from both ends, and Spy had forced Sniper to see Medic. So he did, if only to get his friend to shut up about his health. And in the infirmary, waking up to a dim Saturday morning, Sniper had needed to piss. Medic had also been up, and greeted him - with full bladder - about the current state of the sky.

He managed to relieve himself before joining Medic in front of the window - blinds aside - to watch the sun rise. The two had stood there for a long while, not speaking. Until Medic murmured something about the cold, the alpine snow. And about how he couldn’t wait for springtime.

That was four months ago. It was springtime now, Sniper realized. He’d never gotten Medic’s opinion on that. Maybe it was good for him, and the German welcomed the melting of the snow. Or maybe it wasn’t so good, because of all the rain.

Sniper didn’t want to think about Medic now. Medic, whom he’d left in the infirmary. Medic, whom he couldn’t offer his feelings to because he didn’t understand them himself.

There was a flutter in his heart and an ache in his chest.

Sniper glanced up to see the sky, the cloud cover. There was a clearing right in front of him. Small enough so he didn’t feel exposed at all, but large enough for him to feel raindrops pelting him. He was shivering and shaking; he was both soaked through and anxious.

_”I miss the company of my birds. But you must be relieved you don’t have to chase after them nowadays.”_

Sniper remembered Medic saying that with a small smile. It had been during another one of his recovery periods in the infirmary, when the teams were still adjusting to Nightfall. After the realization he could venture into the forest, the adjustments had come easy to Sniper. But it had to be very different for Medic to have an empty infirmary when no patients were around.

Sniper hadn’t admitted it to Medic, because he’d been rather tired and in a lot of pain. But he did kind of miss the company of the doves, too. They added a chore to his life in a way, when they escaped, and yet... They made things a little more interesting for him. They made Sniper feel a little more included when Demoman or Heavy or Scout had to grab him, to tell him that the birds got out yet again because Medic did not watch them closely enough.

Sniper couldn’t breathe straight; his breaths came in uneven increments and it was a wholly unpleasant experience.

Worse than that, he couldn’t see much.

The sun was setting, it had to be. Visibility would be very low in the rain, and to get back to base soon was crucial if he wanted to be able to actually get back to base. He didn’t want anyone to go looking for him. 

Administration forbid.

There were no stars overhead when the clouds were below their sparkling glare. Sniper had to orient himself using boulders and trees, which was difficult. He didn’t even have his night vision glasses with him, so he wasn’t sure where he was going. It was hard to be exact.

His thoughts taunted him relentlessly. He was sure he’d never find his way back. Well, that was no matter. He could just hunker in a treetop roost and wait until daybreak. Maybe catch a rabbit with his bare hands.

The notion might’ve made Sniper laugh - out loud - had his outlook not been so bleak.

He patted a rock with his palm, feeling its rough texture and coldness against his skin. Thankfully, he really did recognize that rock; he’d passed it enough times to know it was a specific one.

And his thoughts offered him a brief respite from torture and the haze of memories. He wondered.... maybe... Medic let his birds out _on purpose._ What better reason was there to talk to the marksman than after the doves were fetched and he was obligated to say thanks? Though Sniper was sure Medic was just a little absent-minded at times, he liked entertaining that possibility nonetheless. It was sweet. It really was.

Bright lights up ahead. White. Clearly visible even through all the rain.

Sniper walked past his van and right into base. He still felt skittish but getting out of the forest’s wet clutches and into warmth and dryness was good. So it helped a little.

His feet carried him to the infirmary and he wasn’t sure why. But he didn’t stop himself. He left a trail of mud and water behind. There was a hum in his ears; maybe from his own throat.

Sniper knocked twice, firmly, before letting himself in. Spy was still asleep on his cot. But Scout was at the foot of the bed and Medic was at his desk. It didn’t take a long look for Sniper to digest the thick tension in the air.

“Hey,” he said, voice low.

Scout didn’t look up, but he gave a nod. He was leaning against the window and glaring at the wall. Medic looked up. Sniper made eye contact.

“Herr Sniper,” Medic said, sounding emotional. There was an edge to his voice that Sniper didn’t like but for some reason he didn’t feel it was directed at him...

“We were considering going out to look for you.”

“Told ‘im it’d be a shitty idea,” Scout said. “Told ‘im you’d be back and he didn’t wanna listen. But you’re back.”

Medic very obviously had to bite his tongue not to snap at that. His gloved hands clenched on the surface of his desk before he pushed the chair out and stood up.

“I was worried,” Medic said stiffly.

“We were both worried,” Scout muttered.

Sniper’s heartbeat was a harsh purr. “What the fuck did I walk into, mate?” he asked. The question wasn’t for either person in particular.

“Nothin’,” was Scout’s automatic response.

“The aftermath of an argument,” Medic explained.

“That I won, just so you know.”

“Well I’m back now. Didn’t think I’d arrive at such a bad time, though.”

Medic forced himself to relax.

“It’s fine,” he said. “We were being childish.”

“Especially him,” Scout added, quirking a smile.

“Scout-” Medic said, a note of warning in his voice.

“Kiddin’, just teasin’ ya,” the runner huffed.

Sniper rolled his eyes. “How’s Spy doin’?” he asked. Because he was falling apart inside and he needed something to hold onto. Because he needed to _know._ Damn it, he needed to know.

“Better,” Medic replied. “He woke up long enough for us to feed him some broth and crackers with... minimum success.”

“I did most of the feeding,” Scout added, grinning with pride.

“Yes, well... he tried to bite my hand,” Medic grumbled.

Sniper laughed. That was a hilarious mental image and he felt a lot better, though he lamented having missed such an event.

“Why, though?” the marksman asked.

Medic raised an eyebrow. “He remembers,” he said flatly. “He was willing to choke me for what I did, so don’t be surprised he has yet to forgive me.”

Sniper nodded. Then his face reddened, because he recalled rather vividly... Medic _enjoying_ being grabbed where he’d been bruised by Spy’s crude asphyxiation attempt.

And Medic noticed the look on Sniper’s face, so he had to look away before he started thinking about it, too.

“Sounded pretty wild, doc,” Scout said. He paused.

Sniper peered at the runner, wondering when Medic told him about Spy choking him. Well, Sniper _had_ been gone quite some time.

“Anyway,” Medic said, brushing that topic aside. “We got him to eat and drink a little, so whenever he wakes up, he won’t be starving any time soon. Otherwise, he is recovering fine, albeit... slowly. Come next Monday, he will have been able to rest up fully over the weekend. Don’t worry about him.”

“Can’t really help worryin’,” Sniper said with a half-hearted shrug. His head still hurt and he wondered if that was visible to either of the others.

Something in Medic’s expression changed. He turned to Scout.

“Herr Scout, do you mind leaving me with Sniper for a bit? I need to talk to him,” he said.

Scout took a look at Spy and was about to object, but whatever was in Medic’s eyes when they made eye contact... Scout shut his mouth and got up.

“See ya,” he said. He shut the door behind himself.

Sniper exhaled, felt that his knees were wobbling.

“Doc,” he said, shaking his head. “Why’d you kick Scout out?”

Medic rolled his eyes, impressed at how long Sniper had held it together. Whatever ‘it’ was exactly.

“Come on, Herr Sniper,” he said, sounding just a little bit patronizing. “You ran out of here with no explanation. I think a private chat with the person who tries to keep you healthy and alive is in order, ja?” He did not add that he cared far too much about Sniper to merely stand by when he was breaking down. Sniper could read between the lines himself.

He looked so unstable that Medic found himself ready to catch the man if he happened to just collapse on the spot. But he managed to sit down on the examination table, and did not fall over.

The doctor produced his trusty clipboard and pen and set them aside. Just in case. His notes on the Sniper’s general condition were quite something to go over on his less busy nights. Of course, that was only if his more carnal thoughts could be kept at bay. Or his immense, suffocating sadness, but-

“Talk to me,” Medic said. He tried to sound less professional and more concerned, more like he really felt.

Sniper shifted about on the table, looking around, first at the Medi Gun rig, then at the windows, before settling down again. He did not speak.

“Sniper, let me help you,” Medic said softly. “I will not pry. If you don’t want to talk right now-”

“I want to leave this place. I want to run away,” Sniper whispered, cutting the doctor off in the middle of his sentence. His fists were clenched so hard at his sides they were quivering.

Medic blinked, didn’t respond for a few seconds. “I’m sorry, what?”

Sniper couldn’t even look up as he said, “I want to _leave,_ doc.” His voice was strained. “Every week, hell, almost every bleedin’ day, I feel more and more _trapped._ I’ve been spendin’ so much time outdoors in the middle of th’ goddamn night, an’ it’s gettin’ harder an’ harder to force myself back inside to get rest. ‘S not anyone’s fault but my own, for gettin’ m’self in this bloody situation in th’ first place...”

Medic inhaled and exhaled softly. “You can only keep a free bird caged for so long, Herr Sniper,” he said, staring beseechingly at the marksman before looking away.

“I need t’ get out of here, before I lose my damn mind an’ shiv someone in their sleep!”

“Then sleep here,” Medic said, the words a rush. He nearly clapped a hand over his mouth as soon as they left it.

“Beg pardon?” Sniper asked, looking up.

Too late to backtrack. “Sleep here. In the infirmary. That way I can monitor you and you won’t harm anybody.” He didn’t mention that Sniper had the option of sleeping in _his_ room...

Sniper snorted. “‘M not sure ‘bout that, doc. _You_ sleep in here,” he stated.

“Ja, but I am not worried about you... And please, call me Wilhelm.”

Sniper took that in, digesting the comment.

“I’d tell you that you can call me Robin but you already do,” he finally said.

Medic nodded once. “You can bring in whatever you need to sleep, and if anything happens, you can wake me.”

“‘S been a while since I’ve really slept in base,” Sniper sighed.

“I hope you are able to adjust.”

Sniper took a deep breath. “Me too. I’m gettin’ real tired a’ walkin’ ‘round in th’ rain, and wantin’ to keep walkin’ ‘til I’m gone,” he admitted. Now that his confession was out on the table, he felt lighter.

Medic looked away, towards the windows, could not make eye contact if he tried. It was gloomy out because the rain had come again, as it so often did on Nightfall. The drops hit the windows, pitter-pattering softly against the glass. Adding a quiet din to the underside of the conversation.

“It’s time for dinner,” he said, his volume low and his tone gentle. “We should get going. I’ll see you tonight.”

Sniper didn’t get a chance to respond as the doctor turned and, with a swish of his coat, exited the infirmary.

 

Although Sniper didn’t feel well, he didn’t want to forgo eating. Then Medic would reprimand him in place of Spy, because Spy couldn’t do it in his current state.

The dining room was loud. That would have to be dealt with; it tended to be pretty loud as it filled up.

Sniper took a seat beside Pyro and he looked at Scout, sitting diagonally across the table. The runner gave him a reassuring grin. He understood but he also seemed to be saying something. Wordlessly, which was rare for the loudmouth. Now was not the time for worry, was what Sniper was getting from him. Now was the time for eating.

Demoman and Heavy were setting dishes on the table, and Demo didn’t stop chatting the whole time in and out the kitchen and dining room. He seemed to be really immersed in whatever he was going on about in relation to the food they’d cooked. Something about seasoning? Sniper wasn’t sure; he was no expert chef.

Spy was better at cooking a gourmet meal than him, but his skills were rusty. So the two often split the work of cooking and cleaning evenly, when they didn’t eat with the team.

“Hey Py, did you help with dinner?” Scout asked.

Pyro had their head on their gloved hands, elbow on the table. But they perked up upon being asked the question, and shook their head before signing something quickly.

Scout laughed. “I’m not sure if it’ll be as good if you didn’t help out, but yeah, you’re right. Demo an’ Heavy are both pretty good cooks, right?” he asked, to which Pyro nodded.

Sniper might’ve been able to follow the conversation had he been paying attention; he was actually pretty good with hand signing, thanks to Spy. The Frenchman did love his non-verbal languages. Then again, Sniper couldn’t really see when Pyro was right beside him. So he contented himself with just listening. Not like he spoke much during dinner anyway.

On a day of loss, dinner was usually what it took to get everyone’s spirits up again. Sure, the battle hadn’t gone so well. But a hearty meal did help.

Even better when everyone was present, but that wasn’t always possible... Demo and Heavy were still bringing in more food; they’d really gone all-out. Pyro and Scout were talking about food in a half-spoken English, half-hand signed exchange. Soldier and Engineer were chatting about something very American. Sniper was pretty sure he heard ‘corn’ at least three times in the past ten seconds.

“Sorry I’m late.”

Sniper didn’t have to turn around to see it was the Medic coming in. He took the seat next to Scout, and Sniper could not help but look up. He was also tempted to ask how he’d gotten to the dining room before Medic, when Medic had clearly left first, but that wasn’t important. Maybe he’d just gone to grab something or take a piss or whatever. Sniper was overthinking something he didn’t need to overthink.

“You’re just on time, doc,” Scout said, patting his shoulder and making him frown.

“Yes, well... Alright,” Medic replied. He removed Scout’s hand from himself but did so gently.

The runner wasn’t deterred; he returned to his food conversation with Pyro without skipping a single beat.

As soon as Medic was settled down he made eye contact with Sniper. And he raised an eyebrow.

“What?” he asked.

Sniper blinked. “Nothin’,” he said, resting his gaze on the table instead.

He tried not to stare at Medic’s bare hands, fingers interlaced. It reminded Sniper of all the times he’d felt those hands on his body, on his skin, and-

“Dinner’s ready!” Demo yelled, handing everybody a plate as Heavy set down the utensils.

“What kinda food is this?” Scout asked, digging in.

Demoman and Heavy exchanged a look.

“Not American,” Heavy said with a half-shrug.

“Aye, we get enough of that when the Americans cook,” Demoman added.

“Whatd’you got against cornbread?” Scout asked, sounding offended.

Engineer chuckled, but he, too, had corn as a staple in his dishes when he got to choose what to cook.

“Corn is good for you! And American!” Soldier yelled.

Scout yelped, nearly shoving Medic off his chair as he recoiled from the spray of food next to him. “Aw, geez, Soldier!”

“Don’t push me,” Medic said, shoving Scout back into place with a firm hand on his shoulder.

“Tell him to swallow his food before talking, then!”

“I recall many instances when you were unable to do the same.”

The clamour quieted as Spy appeared at the dining room entrance. His fingers were positioned in such a way that made it clear he wished there was a cigarette between them, but there wasn’t.

“Herr Spy,” Medic said, standing up. “You are feeling better?”

“Oui,” Spy replied. “I thought it might be a good idea to eat,” he said.

Sniper was up and grabbed a chair before Medic could.

“Then by all means, come and eat with us,” Engineer said.

“Good, then you won’t be so skinny!” Soldier chimed in, mouth not full this time.

“That’s what I said!” Sniper and Scout exclaimed in unison, making Spy roll his eyes.

Heavy handed him a plate and utensils.

“Merci,” Spy said, taking them.

Sniper wanted to talk to his friend, but it seemed Medic would have him occupied first. So he went ahead and started eating. He was listening, too, though. It’d be hard not to; between Spy and Pyro at his right, there was only one person speaking.

“Does your head still hurt?”

Spy sighed. “Yes, it still hurts.” He sounded irritated but Sniper supposed that was unsurprising. He did have his headache, not to mention what happened with Medic _before..._ Sniper was just thankful that although Spy held grudges, he could be decent when necessary. Like now, during dinnertime.

“Did you just wake up?”

“More or less.”

“Why did you choose to come here? You hate eating with the team.”

“Not much more than you do, docteur. I was hungry and you’re low on... provisions.”

Medic pursed his lips. “There’s plenty of soup. What do you have against soup?”

“Mon dieu, I refuse to subsist on cold soup. At least here I can eat an actual meal, even if in the company of our rather loud teammates.”

Medic and Spy glanced over to their left and right, to the side of the table where the Americans were arguing with Demo and Heavy about corn. Well, at least Pyro was eating.

“Ah, yes,” Medic said, his nose wrinkling in distaste. “I understand. The food is always good.”

With that, the supports - and Pyro - continued through the meal in relative quiet.

Until a piece of food was flung across the table. It sailed, flying between Spy and Sniper’s shoulders, before splattering on the wall.

Spy opened his mouth to speak but Sniper got up and grabbed him to yank him out of the dining room.

“Nope, nope,” Sniper said, loud enough for the cussing Spy to hear. “We are leaving. Right now. Let’s go. Don’t drag your shoes on the floor, mate.”

“He started it!” Soldier said, pointing an accusing finger at Engineer.

The ensuing squabble was loud.

Medic groaned to himself, and Scout tapped his shoulder.

“Shouldn’t you go after him?” he asked.

Medic turned to the runner and squinted. His ice cold eyes cut right through him.

“Hey, don’t look at me like that! ‘M just sayin’, Spy’s kinda your patient.”

“Ah, fick. Alright. I’ll see you tomorrow,” Medic muttered, shaking his head and getting up to depart.

“Supports,” Scout said as he left. “Can’t handle it when things get loud!”

That elicited an amused snort from the Medic, because Scout’s cover was completely illogical but he said it with that obnoxious air so he received a few rumbles of agreement. Hopefully he could help keep the others entertained long enough so Medic could enjoy some blissful silence. He’d have to locate Spy, but quiet conversation was better than dinnertime.

He could hear a very brief argument from Sniper and Spy by the stairwell. Medic decided to let the two catch up for now, and he could check on Spy - and Sniper - later. Now, he was getting a headache of his own.

He wanted to squeeze in some relaxing violin practice while he could.

 

The argument hadn’t been about Spy waking up or anything like that. It was about Sniper running off. And now that he wasn’t in the presence of the rest of his team, where scrutiny was easy to come by, he was losing it again.

Sniper was clutching the windowsill so hard that his knuckles were white.

“I need t' get out,” he choked, breathing shakily. “I feel trapped, I need t' go and breathe, an' get some fresh air t-t' clear my mind.”

The Spy watched him from the bed. He knew better than to protest, and when Sniper turned, Spy gave him a brief nod.

“I’ll be back later,” Sniper said.

Spy didn’t respond, but he kept up an inward prayer for his friend to feel alright again. Being and feeling trapped was all too familiar with him, but as a mercenary under RED? He hoped that Sniper hadn’t just signed his perma-death sentence by admitting, out loud, that he wanted out.

As soon as the door was closed, Spy exhaled loudly and rubbed his head. He’d been through too much for his best friend to be torn out of his life. He - _all_ of the mercs - deserved better than whatever it was they currently had. But things would be okay again. They would have to be okay again. Spy shut his eyes. He didn’t want this to be happening.

Eight months ago...

Sniper had confessed his feelings to the Frenchman after a torturous half-year of him pining for his own friend in silence. And Spy forgave him for everything. He loved Robin, that was no lie. But he couldn’t offer romance; he didn’t reciprocate the marksman’s feelings. So he offered reassurance: he would protect his friend to the death, if it ever came to that.

Spy slid out another cigarette from his disguise kit, ready to chain smoke away the next few hours, or however long it’d be until Sniper returned.

Every single risk he’d considered making over the past year and beyond had been carefully calculated so as not to jeopardize his best friend’s life. It took no more than picturing the Sniper for his resolve to weaken and his lesser temptations to waver.

He was a talented man of espionage, and he was more than capable of sabotaging both RED and BLU if he ever wanted to. And yet, he hadn’t. He was still under RED because of his care for his friend, a predicament that the Administrator, bless Her, would have called ironic. A Spy holding so much _care_ for his teammate that he was unwilling to be the sneaky, underhanded, double-crossing dirtbag he was meant to be.

After a great deal of sitting and thinking and smoking, he thought that dinner had to be over. So he decided to go occupy himself and clear his own mind. There’d have to be somebody to talk to, or something to do.

Outside in the hallway, Engineer was carrying a large toolbox out of his room. Spy walked up to him and shut his room’s door for him.

“Thanks, pardner, that’s mighty kind of you,” he said, nodding.

“De riens. Do you need help with that?” Spy asked.

“Naw, I’m jus’ takin’ this to the workshop. Were you talkin’ to Stretch? He looked awful glum earlier in the hall.”

Spy nodded, following the Engineer downstairs. “I was. He went to take a walk. You know how the outdoors calms him. I would’ve given him more advice, but I felt he wouldn't have appreciated it...”

Engineer chuckled. “Now, I don’t talk to him much, but yeah, reckon I know that much about him. And you _know_ he doesn’t take well to advice.”

“I’m his closest friend, Aaron,” Spy reminded him quietly.

He really was Sniper’s closest friend. Worrying about the man was a habit of his that he could never quite break. It was rare that there _was_ anything to worry about, but whenever there was, Spy was sure to dwell on the issue.

The trip down the stairs made Spy leery, and he almost dropped his cigarette from his mouth, but Engineer was just fine, even carrying the heavy toolbox in his arms. Spy felt that he should’ve just taken it. The size of the thing dwarfed the short Texan in comparison, making him look even smaller than he was. Inside the box was another one of his machinery projects, no doubt.

“Can you get the door?”

Spy nodded, stepping forward to open the unlocked workshop door.

“I ‘ppreciate the help. Now why don’t you take a seat an’ tell me what’s ailin’ you?” Engineer asked as he placed the toolbox on the table.

“Me?” Spy asked, thrown off.

Engineer peered at him. His brown eyes were warm and friendly, but his tone was firm. “Yeah, you. Ain’t nobody else here I could be talkin’ to but the heaps of scrap metal.”

“I do not wish to disturb you in your work,” Spy replied, because he knew that wasn’t necessarily true. Engineer could go and make intelligent conversation with himself that Spy had no hopes of keeping up with. He’d heard the Texan’s mumblings in passing, and he never understood a thing. At least he used simpler words in casual conversation, if this could be considered casual.

“You’re no bother, Spy. Except for your smoking - think you can put that out?”

Spy crushed the cigarette on the table and sat on a metal stool. Its legs were covered in sawdust and burn marks. He had nowhere else to go, and lamented, not for the first time, the plights of staying in the middle of a secluded, forested mountain range. Too far from even the closest town for a single trip to be anything but inconvenient. 

Engineer was picking apart bits of metal in his tool box, setting them aside in different piles on the table. Spy supposed he could stay and chat, though he still wished he could help the Engineer out instead of just being worried about by him, as he was the worrier.

“I’m worried about him,” Spy said morosely. There was too much worry in his thoughts. Nothing he wasn’t used to, of course, but that didn’t mean it didn’t _affect_ him.

“Of course you are,” Engineer replied, plinking down a nail in a growing pile of metal bits. “You’re his friend, right? So a’ course you’d be concerned about him if he isn’t feelin’ so hot.”

“I fear that I may hold _too_ much concern for him. I have faith in the Sniper. He is full-grown. He can handle himself. And yet I have warned him of the plights of - ah... something dangerous, oui? Something that happened to him that was not his own choice, but what he does from now on, I assume, _is_ on his own volition. It’s just that I cannot reassure myself that he will not end up any worse than he is now.” Spy tried his best to explain, in vague terms, the problems with magic and with running away.

Engineer looked thoroughly perplexed, but also thoughtful.

“You gotta let a bird fly,” he said.

“I know,” Spy replied, quiet.

“‘Cause it sounds to me like you’re tryin’ to keep him down to the earth, when for some people, the best way of learnin’ is just by doin’. And if he gets hurt, won’t you still be there for ‘im? Then you can make sure he’s learned his lesson, and you can be there for him.”

“I don’t want him to get hurt.”

Engineer shook his head ruefully. “Life’s chock-full a’ perils, Spy. Nothin’ wrong with ya warnin’ him ‘bout that, but if he needs to _experience_ to understand, you gotta let him.”

“You’re saying I should let him get hurt?”

Engineer lowered the goggles on his helmet over his eyes.

“I’m _sayin’_ you oughta let Stretch figure things out himself. Not to mention, have a li’l faith in him.”

Spy nodded slowly. “I do trust him,” he said. He did not add the other factors that made Sniper’s situation a _situation_ and not just regular goings-on in their lives. Namely, Medic. He’d have to save that for another conversation with somebody else. It was good not to leave all of one’s thoughts and burdens on the same person, was what Spy thought.

“I’d hope so,” Engineer replied. “Now, I suggest you go have a little chat with him when you can. I gotta start smacking things with a hammer, so you’re gonna want to get out.”

Spy nodded. “Have a good night,” he said, bowing slightly before he left.

Engineer gave him a wave before he returned to his table.

Spy locked and shut the door. The moment it was closed, he noticed Scout bounding up to him.

“Hey!” the runner said.

“Good evening, Scout,” Spy replied amiably. He was hardly in the mood to listen to a long ramble, but he’d be able to bear it if it came to that. Anything to distract him.

“I’ve been lookin’ for ya, where’ve you been?”

Spy blinked, then asked, “Looking for me? Why?”

Scout thought about that, as if he himself wasn’t quite sure, then he gave a noncommittal shrug. “‘Cause there’s nobody else to talk to after dinner, apparently.”

The Frenchman doubted that; few of the other mercs had much of a reason to leave base. “And why not? Has everyone gone to bed so soon?” he asked, willing to humour the Scout.

“Nah, not really... Well... I guess Engineer’s workin’. Soldier’s asleep. Demoman and Pyro are workin’ on somethin’, or blowin’ things up, or settin’ things on fire, or both? I was talkin’ to Heavy for a bit, but I think he was tryin’ to read ‘cause he grabbed his things and headed back to his room. Medic’s practicin’ violin. Dunno where Sniper is; haven’t seen him in hours, so I assumed he was also sleepin’ or in his van which means he doesn’t want me to bug him. That left you.”

Spy was genuinely impressed at the Scout’s explanation and complete tally of their teammates. He was also sure that leaving Demoman and Pyro to do whatever together might not turn out well depending on what they were doing, exactly, but that could be addressed later. If he chose to socialize with them later.

“Is this what you’ve been doing all night? Looking for someone to talk to?”

Scout looked sheepish. “Yeah, post-battle evening’s been boring! After I polished my guns about fifty times, what do I do? I could read, but I finished my last book and now I have nothin’ to read. So I look for all of you guys to talk to. I thought you woulda noticed my routine by now, J- Spy,” he said, raising an eyebrow.

Spy squinted at him, but the runner turned his head to face down the hall, towards the direction they were walking. The Frenchman could’ve sworn that Scout was going to say something else, not ‘Spy’. It couldn’t be...? His _name?_ No, that was silly. Scout couldn’t possibly know his name, so Spy dropped it.

The two strode down the hallway. Base felt oddly empty with everyone doing their own thing instead of making horrible things happen together, as a team and a group.

“Well here I am,” Spy finally said.

“Exactly!” Scout exclaimed, grinning as he hopped in front of the Spy, who made an abrupt stop, startled. “So where are you headed? Can I come?”

Spy was not going to bring Scout into Sniper’s room. That would be rude to his friend, who was quite possibly having a mental breakdown at that very moment. The worry was creeping back, and Spy had to tamp it down again. Sniper did _not_ appreciate company trying to visit during his bouts of... claustrophobia. This kind of thing had happened before in the Badlands. Not as severe, but still...

“My room,” Spy said absently. He could tidy some things up as long as Scout didn’t make any more of a mess. That would keep him occupied.

“Aw, sweet! I’ve never seen your room before, what do you even put in there? You’ve got secret spy shit, don’tcha? I guess you wouldn’t have the same junk I’ve got in mine.”

“It’s just my room. There is a closet, and a table, and a bed,” Spy replied, amused.

“Hell, I don’t care, whatever’s in there’s gotta be more interesting than... anything _else_ that’s happenin’ right now ‘cause it’s a whole lotta nothin’. C’mon, you’re gonna show me, right?”

Spy’s hand gripped the railing tighter than necessary as he ascended the staircase.

“Oui. Sure,” he said. Scout’s curiosity was endearing and Spy was inwardly grateful for the diversion from his own ‘everything else’ happening at the moment. Listening to Scout was a small price to pay for a good distraction. Hardly a price at all, really. Of course, he also didn’t make a habit of letting others into his room - barring Sniper - but it would be no big deal.

“This is my room. I think you will find it as entertaining as I said it is. Close the door, will you? I don’t want to wake anyone up.”

“Pffft, I’m pretty sure only Soldier’s asleep, and he sleeps like a goddamn rock. Your room is cool, though! I mean, not as cool as mine, duh. You don’t even have any posters up! Well, I guess the framed art kinda counts? What is it?”

Spy was inspecting his closet. “Quoi? Oh, the illustrations?” he asked, turning to see what Scout was looking at.

He had three framed pictures, just to add a little decor to the room, if nothing else. One was an intricate map he himself had made of the Badlands. It was hardly accurate, and he’d drawn it more for the aesthetic appeal than anything else. There were winding paths, little mountains, rivers, a legend, a compass, bits and pieces of places that the team had visited as they fought through the desert.

The next was a simple watercolour painting, a still life of a bunch of Pyro’s flowers in a vase, also done by Spy. The watercolour paints were stored in a bedroom of his in one of the desert bases. Perhaps at the Hoodoo map, or Goldrush. He forgot which one, but he’d never forget long hours spent painting. It was one of his more peaceful pastimes.

The last framed picture was a charcoal sketch, accentuated with smudges and awkward palm and fingerprints. Marks of a novice charcoal-user. Spy studied it - not that he needed to, to know that it had been drawn by the Sniper. It reminded Spy that his friend was also a bit of an artist, like himself, even though neither of them drew much nowadays. Sniper’s art style suited him, messy but solid. The sketch was a rough figure drawing of a person standing, wearing a long coat, with quite a bit of poise and flair.

Scout noticed that Spy was in some sort of deep thought, so he took a seat on the bed and resigned himself to a quiet night. Spy didn’t even notice him sit down, so Scout flopped over, wondering if he’d be able to sleep in the smoke-smelling room, because Spy was clearly going to be standing there forever, the way he looked to be in a trance, almost.

Although Spy knew Sniper had never drawn much, he’d always assumed that the figure had been drawn from imagination, but now... Spy had never looked at the picture much; he’d only put it up because he liked the lines and how organic the figure looked. It rounded out his little collection on the wall, evening things out with a trio. Now, he really stared at it. The sketch was old, perhaps over a year old, one of Sniper’s few that Spy had ever seen with his own eyes. Over a year ago, he might not have thought much of the figure - and in his memories, he hadn’t. But now, right now... The pose, casual, and yet, with an air of regality to it. The back of the coat, how it was flared, captured in mid-air, in mid-fall.

“Mon dieu,” Spy whispered, incredulous at how long it had taken him to come to the conclusion.

Sniper had drawn the _Medic._

 

Spy had returned to Sniper’s room when Scout fell asleep. He’d draped his blanket over the runner, not even bothering with waking him up. And in his best friend’s room, he took a seat on the bed. His head was pounding and he felt very ill, but he went ahead and lost himself in his thoughts and memories nonetheless. All those recent hours Sniper spent in the infirmary... Spy wondered how much he’d missed over his own hours of sleeping there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \\\ Here's the 100k word mark, thanks for all the support so far!
> 
> Good thing I've written a bunch, now I can play six hours of TF2 and six hours of Kirby: Squeak Squad. Or I could work on my commissions. That's kind of important too, I guess.


	17. Laugh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay! I was working at the Pan Am Games last week. I've also been getting three roleplays set up (well, two. tbh my third partner and i have yet to think of a thing), along with catching up on my commissions. Also Gun Mettle contracts, which have been sucking up the time I'd normally spend on MvM (least im FINALLY on tour 21 tho! 20+ tours reppin <3).
> 
> ...Then I had to contend with block, but I managed to work through it. //

Sniper returned to his bedroom, in a fresh change of clothes. He found it a little odd he was alone, but he knew Spy was prone to wandering. He didn’t sit still very well. Sniper, however, was more than capable of sitting still, and he was ready to wait for his friend to return.

Spy did come back eventually. He did not greet Sniper on the bed, and Sniper did not greet him. No words were necessary as he took a seat between the windowsill and his friend on the middle of the bed.

Some time passed before either of them felt they should break the silence.

“I find it cute. Hilarious - no offence - but cute,” Spy said, taking out his disguise kit.

“Find what cute?” Sniper asked, frowning.

“The fact that you’re in love, mon ami. You should be flustered more often. It works on you.”

Sniper struggled to find the words to protest what Spy said. He was unable to do so before the Frenchman started giggling to himself, then falling into a full-on bout of laughter, complete with the occasional snort. Sniper did not bother asking how Spy could draw such a conclusion; he knew how his friend found things about about people. This was not the first time Spy had sprung such a hard truth on him.

The Sniper smacked Spy and huffed in indignance.

“‘M _not_ in love,” he growled, glaring downwards and refusing to make eye contact.

Spy recovered himself. “It’s just like you to deny your feelings,” he said, solemn and serious. “I can only pray that you do not do so to the point of regret.”

“Nothin’ to regret.”

Spy blinked, then smiled sadly. He shook his head a bit, popped a cigarette in his mouth, and lit it.

Quiet settled down again as Spy smoked and Sniper sat, tense. There were more words to be said, but they hung unsaid in the hazy air.

Again, Spy broke the silence first.

“Don’t you care about him, though?” he asked.

“What do you mean?” Sniper asked. He was still frowning.

“You know exactly what I mean.”

“That’s a proper bold assumption there, don’t you think?”

“...Is it?” Spy challenged.

Sniper looked away, to the side, to his closed and locked door.

“Dunno,” he said, his voice very small.

Spy resisted the urge to pat his shoulder in a reassuring manner. He continued his query, “Do you not care about him? The same way you cared about me?”

Sniper’s grip on his knees tightened involuntarily.

“You can’t run away from yourself,” Spy said, in a gentler tone. “Not forever.”

For a moment, as Spy let his words settle, the silence returned. It was thick, tense, smelled of an acrid, burning scent.

The cigarette was tapped. Ashes dropped down onto the windowsill. And Sniper’s reaction to Spy, though eventual, was explosive.

“It doesn’t _matter!”_ he yelled, getting up to make wild arm gestures. “I don’t care if I-I _fucked_ somebody or not! I have t' take care of myself! _I need t' get out of here.”_

Spy was relatively unperturbed by his friend’s frustration, though his brow furrowed in worry.

“And did you?”

Sniper froze. “Did I...?”

He turned to Spy, who was looking out the window, seeming almost wistful. The marksman’s arms dropped from his head and he adopted a more neutral stance.

“Nah,” he replied, voice quiet. “Nah, I didn’t.”

Spy inhaled and exhaled without taking the cigarette out of his mouth.

“I think he likes you,” Spy said. It was hardly a secret to him now that he had the chance to think about it.

At that, Sniper deflated visibly, no trace of his anger remaining. Because he knew exactly how Medic felt about him.

“Why? Why me?” he asked.

Spy, making careful, deliberate movements, removed the cigarette from his mouth even though it was far from finished, crushed the end on the windowsill, set it down, and stood. He placed his gloved hands on Sniper’s shoulders, gripped them firmly, and looked his friend square-on in the eyes.

“Robin,” he began firmly. “Are you listening? _Bien._ The Medic is not one whose heart is easily won. He has high standards. If I was into him, I would find him a difficult, for want of a better term, _target._ If I was the Scout, I would say he was ‘out of my league’.

“I’ve known him better than you know him for quite a while now, and I can assure you that it has been a very long time since he has felt romantic feelings for anyone. It’s very rare with him. So don’t ask _why_ he likes you. Ask yourself this: _‘do I share his feelings?’”_

Sniper was visibly shaken, unsure of how to respond. He stammered, “I- that’s part of my problem, is I dunno how I feel.” He plopped himself down again at the foot of the bed.

Spy sat down next to his friend and put an arm around him. “You cannot run from your feelings again,” he said, his words hardly louder than a whisper.

Sniper planted his face into his hands, glasses and all.

“I know,” he replied, because he'd told himself that too. “'M sorry.”

“Don’t apologize to me. I forgave you eight months ago for lying to my face; I think we’ve grown past that point. When you are ready, you should go talk to _him.”_

Spy stood and picked up his half-cigarette to light it again.

“Is it just physical? There’s nothing wrong with that; he’s a very attractive man.”

Sniper flopped down onto his bed and rested his hands over his stomach. He knew that the attraction could just be physical; he’d spent quite a bit of time thinking about it.

“I s’pose it could be and that’s what I told him it was, ‘cause I don’t feel... this often, whatever this is. Not since-” he stopped himself, swallowing.

_Not since you._

But Spy didn’t need to complete the sentence for him. “Feelings are confusing,” he replied simply, watching trees sway outside. “You will understand them when you allow yourself to consider them.”

Sniper closed his eyes, nodded more for himself than to agree with his friend. “‘S it too much to hope that he’ll approach me?”

Spy turned around at that, puffing out smoke in amusement. “Haven’t you gotten close enough to him to guess by now? Tu demandes à un homme pauvre de t'acheter la lune.”

“You know I don’t understand your bloody French words. ‘Cept maybe for ‘shit’ and ‘bastard’.”

“You ask a poor man to buy you the moon,” Spy sighed, giving a dramatic wave of his hand. Smoke trailed from the cigarette between his fingers.

“So what you’re sayin’ is I should go talk to him.”

“When you’re ready.”

“No time like the present.”

“They stumble that run fast.”

Sniper sat up with an indignant huff. “Shakespeare, huh?” he asked.

Spy smiled at the window. “At least you recognized it. Go get a drink of water, Robin. Clear your mind. And try to talk to him.”

 

Spy had been napping on Sniper’s bed for about ten minutes when the door was flung open. A light sleeper, he was sitting up by the time Sniper caught the door so it didn’t bang against the wall.

“I-” Sniper said before giving a loud, very resigned sigh.

Spy rubbed his eyes and checked the clock on the bedside table. Sniper had been gone for about forty-five minutes, not too long.

“You what?” Spy asked as he pulled his black gloves on.

Sniper closed the door and locked it. He plunked down on the foot of the bed and set his head in his hands.

“I couldn’t do it,” he admitted.

Spy frowned, staring at the hunched-over and sad form of his best friend. A person whom he cared for, and thus, had to help and speak to.

The late evening light and cloudiness washed the marksman with blue. He looked even more depressing than he did earlier.

“What happened?” Spy asked. “Did you even speak to him?”

Sniper groaned, not even bothering to look up as he replied, “No.”

“Wait, wait, so where have you been this whole time?”

Sniper removed his hands from his face, turned to Spy, and narrowed his eyes. “I came back _here_ for a bit, but you weren’t here, so I went back downstairs. H-he was playin' his violin. Couldn’t do it, didn’t wanna bother ‘im.”

Spy nodded. “I’ve been around. But I came back.”

“I can see that. Anyway, like I said, I couldn’t do it. Told you I’m no good with feelings, mate.”

“Feelings are complicated... there’s nothing wrong or bad about being confused, mon ami. Remember there is always tomorrow, and the day after.”

Sniper grunted, said, “A bleedin’ shame, that. ‘S not like we’re goin’ anywhere anyway, right?”

Spy gave a half-smile, the languid kind. “That’s not always a bad thing. Be optimistic, Robin. You have all the opportunities you are willing to grasp.”

“Don’t get all philosophical on me, spook.”

Spy patted his friend’s shoulder. He glanced out the window, where the spiky treeline was just visible. Black against the deep blue of early night.

“Do you understand what I am saying?” Spy asked.

Sniper followed his friend’s gaze, then looked back at his dark silhouette in the unlit room. He thought back to hundreds of other instances when he’d looked to Spy like this. For help. For advice. For reassurance. Had Spy ever told him wrong in the past? Well, mishaps occurred. That was inevitable. But...

“Yeah,” Sniper finally said, in a breathless exhale of a syllable. “Yeah, I get what you’re tellin’ me. Don’t bloody like it much.”

Spy smiled and shut his eyes. He let the coolness envelop him, relishing the dark as he so often did.

“You may not like having to take action, but I believe in you. You can do it, and no matter what happens... no matter how ridiculous the circumstance, or how abhorrent the situation you trip into... I will be here for you.”

Spy turned back to Sniper, but there was little more to see than a dim reflection of light off the man’s aviators.

“That’s what I promised, wasn’t it?”

Sniper nodded, even though it’d hardly be visible now. “Yeah. And same for you.”

Spy laughed. “I’d hope that whatever happens to me from now on is not nearly as dramatic as your life right now.” His words and tone were light but inside, not even that far deep inside, he was still brimming with worry.

“Well if it does ever get bad, whatever there is to get bad. ‘S what friends do, right?”

Spy leaned back against the wall. _”Most_ friends needn’t worry about getting killed on a near-daily basis. They do things like get lunch together, not gut other mercenaries.”

Sniper rubbed his forehead. “S’pose that’s a fair point. We don’t really have the option to be ‘regular’ people.”

Spy’s fingers ghosted over the front of his suit but he knew now was not the time for a cigarette. Not even to calm his jumping nerves.

“You’re right,” Spy said. “We don’t get to be ‘regular’ people. I miss it sometimes, even though my life before this was hardly normal. But it had some semblance of normalcy, oui? And you, I assume you grew accustomed to a certain kind of normal too. But people like us, the kind of ‘normal’ we had was never really that normal.”

“Glory to the proles,” Sniper sighed.

Spy leaned back forward to punch his back, making him cry out in mild protest.

“You aren’t getting my poi-” Spy began.

“I get your point,” Sniper said, cutting him off. “And I know, I know it’s true. I just miss the past sometimes. Kinda wish I could’ve had a normal life, not one like this, where I have to shoot people for a living.”

Spy took his hand and pressed his thumb to the back of it, making Sniper turn enough to look over his shoulder at the shadows and barely visible form of his best friend.

“Normalcy is an illusion,” Spy said firmly. “If what you want is beyond your grasp, then _make do._ There are blessings to be counted, there are possibilities to be considered.” He pressed his other hand to his suit. “Widen your scope.”

Sniper smirked, though he knew Spy couldn’t really see that. “Not really possible, all things considered. I’m a limited scope kind of person.”

He felt the press to his hand tighten.

“There is more to life than the general dictation of society’s whims,” Spy said, his words fierce now. “What you have is something special, and I know... you feel trapped.” He took a deep breath. “But what do you do when you are trapped?”

Sniper was thinking of an appropriate reply to that when he cried out. This time, not because he was being cuffed gently. A sharp, stabbing pain emerged from his palm. Literally.

“Did you just _stab_ me?!” Sniper asked, attempting to retrieve his hand in Spy’s grip.

“You break free,” Spy said softly.

As soon as the knife was removed, Sniper managed to extricate his limb. The blade had pierced the skin neat and clean, and hot blood was flowing freely from it.

“Right. You did. Now send me to respawn,” Sniper growled, getting up from the bed.

Spy yawned and stretched on the bed. His head was pounding and his entire being ached. He had no idea what he was doing, still awake.

“Not likely,” he replied before turning over, his back to Sniper.

“You’re a real goddamn bastard sometimes, you know?” Sniper asked.

He lingered a moment longer, not out of anger but out of worry. He couldn't for long; his hand was demanding attention, so it was time to get going before he felt any sort of urge to forcibly amputate himself.

The door shut, nice and quiet.

“I know,” Spy murmured.

 

“Medic!” Sniper yelled as soon as he’d arrived at the medical wing, slowing his run to a light jog so he could catch his breath.

He was fortunate and hadn’t fallen down the stairs. One unstabbed hand on the banister to his left - thankfully Spy had stabbed his _right_ hand - and he was steady enough to run downstairs.

What was odd was the lack of reply. He knew Medic had weirdly good hearing, so where was he? Couldn’t be asleep, could he? That would be even odder.

Sniper had his hand raised, ready to knock on the door. But there was no need; it was flung open to his face and nearly smacked him.

“Sniper!” Medic exclaimed. He looked surprised, with violin bow in hand. Then he squinted. “...Why are you here? Are you ready to go to sleep already?”

“Nah, not that,” Sniper said. He did not like the defensive posture from Medic’s hand holding the bow because it reminded him of his nightmare with the BLU Spy disguised as Medic.

Medic seemed to notice his look, and lowered his arm.

“So why are you here?”

Sniper held his bleeding hand up.

“Mein gott,” Medic breathed. “Come in.” He turned and hurried into the medbay so Sniper had no option but to follow.

“How did this happen?” Medic asked, already fetching things out of a cupboard.

Sniper watched his white coattails flutter as he moved.

“Spy stabbed me,” he said, walking up to the doctor.

Medic froze. He turned to Sniper. “Spy _what?”_ he asked.

Sniper gave a shrug. “He stabbed me.”

Medic stammered a few unintelligible noises, and the expression on his face went from anger to confusion to something aghast.

“W- _why?”_ he asked.

Sniper pursed his lips, realizing that the reason was to get Sniper to come see Medic.

“Y’know, that’s not important. Point is, my best friend stabbed me in the hand.”

“Did you two... were you fighting? Did something happen?” Medic asked, taking Sniper hand in one of his, clad in the usual red rubber.

“Nah, not quite.”

“Well good. I guess. He’s in no shape to be fighting.”

Medic had a white cloth pressed to Sniper’s palm. He was at such a loss for words that he literally did not have the mental capacity to be turned on by the copious amounts of blood in front of him. This was simply too much.

“He went back to sleep right after I left,” Sniper added.

“That... that’s not good,” Medic muttered.

He’d assumed Spy had enough energy to be fine for the rest of the night until actual bedtime. It was only around eight thirty now. If Spy was sleeping now... Great. Maybe he hadn’t been ready for release from the infirmary quite yet, and-

“He gonna be alright though?”

Medic blinked. “Ja, he will be fine,” he said. Reflexive response to calm the target. Damn it. He hoped, rather fervently, that it would turn out to be the truth. Even though he _knew_ there was nothing to worsen Spy’s condition and thus it was nothing but up from this point onward, those dark fears did crop up sometimes. At least he saw Sniper relax visibly.

“Did he use a balisong?” Medic asked.

“Yeah... he doesn’t carry regular knives with him unless it’s the Your Eternal Reward in battle. Couldn’t have been anything else.”

Medic nodded, then he looked up to Sniper and made eye contact. He nodded again, this time to the cots in front of them.

“Take a seat,” he said, still holding the cloth to Sniper’s palm.

Sniper took a seat. Now that the present issue was under control, he felt his heart beating harder. He wanted to say something. Not about his stabbed hand. Not about Spy, though Spy’s condition was certainly of importance. But... he wanted to say something about Medic. Like how his hands radiated waves of warmth, even though the gloves, and it felt nice. Or about how his eyes were kind of blue but mostly grey and his gaze, that also felt nice.

Even though he had all those thoughts in his head, he couldn’t voice a single one. So instead of speaking, he leaned forward and gave Medic a kiss. Light and chaste.

“Sniper,” Medic whispered, the words grazing over Sniper’s lips in a hot puff of breath.

“Yeah?” he asked.

“Um... I need to clean your wound.”

Sniper’s face reddened, but Medic just smiled at him.

“Hold that there, will you?” he said, giving the bloody cloth a pat.

Sniper took it in his other hand and nodded.

Medic wet another white cloth and brought it over. Even when Sniper was sitting right beside him, he felt the doctor’s presence was just... really strong. Especially in his own ‘office’. His swipe of the cloth over Sniper’s red-stained pain was steady but careful.

“You’re lucky it’s clean,” Medic stated.

Sniper had been staring at his eyes again, half-lidded as he worked.

“Huh?” he asked.

Medic’s glance flicked up, meeting Sniper’s. He gave a small smile.

“Nothing, schatz,” he said. He didn’t want to scare Sniper with his stories about dirty wounds. On the battlefield, they were certainly plentiful. Though Medic didn’t have to worry about that on the field when he had his Medi Gun out and his heal targets were always staying active.

“Hold that there,” he said, before getting up again.

Medic was a little sad he couldn’t heal the minor wound with magic; it would’ve been the perfect chance to practice. He’d done enough magic to Sniper, though. He knew that. But it was hard cleaning and fixing it the old-fashioned way, especially when there was so much blood, and it was Sniper, and...

“Doc, you alright?” Sniper asked.

Medic was standing still, clutching a bottle in one gloved hand. He was startled out of his reverie by the question.

“Yes, I’m fine,” he said, hurrying back over to Sniper’s side.

“You know, I’m surprised you’re so good at holding yourself together,” Sniper said, sounding casual. Then he frowned. “Sorry, was that rude?”

Medic wasn’t really listening as he took the wet cloth from Sniper’s palm. The words registered a beat too late.

“No, it’s fine,” he said absently.

Sniper raised an eyebrow, and brought his other hand over to Medic’s head to tip his chin up.

“You sure?” he asked, the low rumble of words making Medic want to melt.

“Y-yes...” he said.

There was an awkward pause.

“Bloody hell,” Sniper sighed. He knew he was going to regret this. He yanked Medic’s hand - still holding the cloth - away. Then he brought his palm up, feeling the blood well up again already.

“Just... do it. Please,” he said.

Medic was taken by surprise. He got a whiff of the blood and recoiled to the other side of the cot, nearly knocking the bottle over with his furious scramble of limbs.

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” Medic said, a sharp note of warning in his voice.

But Sniper could hear the cracks in the sentence, he could practically _see_ Medic’s self-denial and how much willpower it was taking.

So he tipped his palm up, allowing a bead of blood to trickle down to his wrist before it was stalled by the tip of his tongue.

Medic’s eyes widened and he shut them forcefully.

“Sniper,” he snarled. “Do you really want this? You’ve been through this once, was that not bad enough for you?”

“Doc, I don’t just want ‘this’. I want you,” he said.

Medic opened his eyes again, tentatively, to see Sniper lick his lips.

“Are you tempting me?” he demanded.

Sniper took another lick of the blood from his wrist. He raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

Medic lunged forward, pressing him to the window. He grabbed Sniper’s collar before pressing his lips to Sniper’s.

Sniper moaned in appreciation as he felt Medic’s tongue on his, greedy to taste him and his blood.

“You’re a fool,” Medic hissed. He invaded Sniper’s mouth again before parting to add, “It’s a gottverdammt shame you are worth every second of this.”

He pressed closer until he was straddling the marksman. He grabbed Sniper’s wrist and pinned it to the window, mashing it to the blinds.

Sniper’s hand trailed down the doctor’s back. His fingertips danced against Medic’s spine before reaching down to grab his ass.

Medic was grinding against Sniper’s crotch, rather shamelessly.

“That’s good, love,” Sniper gasped. “You’re so- you’re bloody good at this.”

Medic could taste Sniper’s blood-laced breath and it was driving him mad.

“You taste like sin,” he whispered.

“And you love it, don’t you?” Sniper asked, smiling even as Medic kissed him again.

Medic was breathless already. 

“Yes,” he responded. “I do.”

The doctor took Sniper’s wrist and brought his hand over to his mouth. He didn’t dare touch the wound, but the blood flowing from it was fair game. He was unabashed in his little tongue bath.

Sniper could already feel his pants growing uncomfortable, and he fumbled to undo his belt with one hand.

Medic resisted the very real urge to sink his teeth into Sniper’s calloused palm.

Sniper could feel Medic’s hands on him, all over him, not even caring where they were reaching. But Medic did back away from Sniper’s hand, sated. He did not bother pulling his gloves off before helping Sniper with his belt buckle.

“Someone could walk in on us, you know,” Sniper said.

“Forethought, hm?” Medic chuckled. “I suppose you’re right.”

“You make it hard to stop, though."

“Then don’t,” Medic said, kissing Sniper’s palm again.

“Trust me, love,” Sniper growled. “I don’t want to.”

Medic smiled and undid his own belt. The two managed to get each other’s pants and shirts off, but Medic still had his tie on because Sniper didn’t want him to take it off. So Medic let Sniper keep his aviators, but not the hat.

“We should make this quick,” Medic said, feeling Sniper’s uninjured hand on his hip.

“Prob’ly for the best,” Sniper agreed, guiding Medic in his frottage.

Medic whined, wishing he could press their erections against each other, skin to skin. Not through cloth.

“Whoa there,” Sniper said at the noise. “Y’can’t do that, love. That’s too much.”

Medic worked his underwear off, then helped Sniper with his.

“Is that what you like to hear from me?” he asked.

Sniper nipped Medic’s neck.

“Maybe,” he said.

“Give me your hand,” Medic gasped.

Sniper offered his bleeding hand. As Medic worked his tongue - and his hips - Sniper actually moaned. He had his other hand around their hard-ons, stroking more or less in time with Medic’s rocking.

“Dunno how you get off on that, but you feel bloody amazing.”

Medic hummed in response, tongue still pressed to Sniper’s hand. He was aware his pre-cum was already leaking out and he didn’t care if he didn’t last long. He was going to ride out this sensory overload for all it was worth. The taste and scent of blood, Sniper beneath him, Sniper’s hand around them, their dicks grinding against each other, the low growls of encouragement and the occasional words...

“Ich liebe dich,” Medic mumbled to Sniper’s palm.

“What?” Sniper asked, a little preoccupied with getting them both off. His thumb rubbed against the head of Medic’s cock and came away wet.

“Keep going,” Medic said quickly. “Bitte,” he added in the most enticing manner possible.

It wasn’t hard for him to be enticing; his face was flushed, making his eyes stand out even more. Sniper couldn’t handle eye contact with him, not with that smouldering look in his eyes. Kind of grey, kind of blue, but mostly grey. He was the very paradigm of seduction.

Hardened flesh was warm, was hot, in Sniper’s hand. He wished he could say he felt it, all of the skin and the veins beneath and the slick pre-cum, but he couldn’t really discern between all those things. He just knew it felt good and Medic felt good against him, on top of him.

And what was Sniper seeing now? Beyond the haze of lust, of desire. Was there love in his gaze or was Sniper just projecting what he thought he should be seeing?

He didn’t need to look into Medic’s eyes to know how he felt. He knew that. He knew how Medic felt because Medic had told him plenty of things both verbally and nonverbally about how he felt.

Sniper was sure of it. Medic loved him.

His cry of pleasure tore through the infirmary as he came over his own and Medic’s front.

Medic giggled - actually _giggled!_ \- before Sniper reached to take just his cock in his hand. A few strokes later and he was arching his back, gasping German expletives and making a mess on Sniper’s neck and chest.

“Your hand,” Medic said as he tried to catch his breath.

Sniper’s hand was on Medic’s lower back, but the injured one was limp against the cot.

“It’ll be fine,” he promised. Then he reached for Medic’s tie and pulled him in for a wet kiss.

“Will it?” Medic asked, words so quiet he might as well not have said anything at all.

But Sniper was right there, right in front of him. Listening.

“Yeah,” he replied. “It will.”

 

Dinner was certainly entertaining. Scout had, of course, noticed Sniper’s bandaged hand right away.

“Wow, Snipes, didja wrap it up to look like mine? I know I’m a trendsetter, but you don’t gotta do that to copy me.”

“No, Scout,” Sniper replied, giving the runner a pat on the shoulder before he took a seat. “Spy stabbed my hand earlier.”

Scout’s jaw dropped. “Spy _what?!”_ he exclaimed.

The scraps of conversation around the table withered away at that, making Sniper uncomfortable at the sudden quiet.

“H-how’d he even get past friendly?!”

Sniper shrugged. “He’s got a lot of knives, Scout. Wouldn’t be surprised if one or two wasn’t even registered in the respawn system.”

“Contraband, then,” Engineer muttered, shaking his head in disapproval. Of course he’d disapprove; he helped to manage the respawn and weapon system.

“Yeah, but still! That’s pretty ballsy. Didja stab him back?” Scout asked, eyes gleaming with curiosity.

“No!” Sniper replied, horrified at the very idea. “He... he had a reason, okay?”

“Does not sound like good reason,” Heavy pointed out.

“‘M not gonna say it was good or bad,” Sniper grumbled. “Proper rude of him to do that, I know.”

“Rude! Ain’t it a little more than just rude, Snipes?” Scout asked. shaking his head. Sniper was clearly unwilling to blame his friend for anything and Scout found that amazing. Friendship was one thing, a gentle stabbing was another.

“Very Spy of him to do that,” Engineer chuckled, shaking his head ruefully.

“Happens to you all the time, doesn’t it?” Sniper huffed. He wanted to direct the conversation away from himself.

Engineer laughed. “That BLU mother hubbard of a snake isn’t a bad actor, you know.”

“Can always tell difference between him and real doktor,” Heavy rumbled.

At that, Sniper shivered. That comment was too close to his bloody nightmare about the BLU Spy disguised as Medic. Of course he’d been able to tell that the BLU Spy hadn’t been the real Medic. Then again, it _had_ been his own dream.

“You must have keen eyes,” Engineer said.

“Yeah, ‘cause I sure can’t tell!” Scout added.

Before Heavy or anyone else could reply, Demoman and Pyro emerged from the kitchen across the hall.

“Dinner’s ready!” Demoman yelled, even though everyone was already gathered there in front of him.

“Great! I’m starving!” Scout replied, just as loudly.

Sniper wasn’t even sitting right _beside_ him and his ears still did not appreciate the burst of loud noise.

A giant bowl of salad was set down in the middle of the table, which was nice to see. Sniper didn’t track his diet or anything, but he was pretty sure he didn’t get enough vegetables.

“Where’s Soldier?” Demoman asked. He took another giant bowl - this one of soup - from Pyro, and placed it beside the salad.

“Present!”

Demoman nearly jumped at Soldier’s reply from behind him.

“Aye, aye, take a seat,” he said, nodding towards the table. “Where’ve you been?”

Soldier flicked his helmet up with a finger.

“Helping Medic transfer Spy from his room to the infirmary. Now, he said he didn’t need help, but I was _pretty_ dang sure he needed help.”

Sniper gave a snort and Demoman looked like he wanted to protest that.

“Alright,” the Scot finally said. “At least you’re here now.”

Pyro tugged on his sleeve and the two headed back to the kitchen.

“Spy doin’ okay?” Sniper asked, trying not to sound too concerned.

Soldier gave a nod. “Medic said he was sleeping.”

“Needs the rest,” Sniper muttered.

“And _you_ need to eat,” Soldier replied, pointing his finger to the marksman from across the table.

Sniper flinched. “Wh-”

“Medic said that, too! Also, I’m saying it. So that makes it an order.”

Sniper had to stop himself from giving an indignant squawk, because Soldier had grabbed his plate to spoon a lot of salad on top.

Everyone else was laughing around the table, and Scout nearly fell off from his chair.

Sniper sighed but he took his plate of salad with a smidgen of dignity. Just as well, because that was all he had left at the moment.

Soldier relaxed back into his chair, arms crossed, looking satisfied with himself.

Demoman and Pyro returned with more food, including a basket of bread and bowl of spaghetti with accompanying bowl of tomato sauce.

“Looks good,” Engineer said.

“Thanks,” Demoman replied. Pyro mumbled and nodded in appreciation.

“What’s the soup?” Sniper asked.

Demo glanced at his cooking partner, then at Scout.

“Scout wanted clam chowder, so Pyro made him clam chowder.”

At that, Scout gave a whoop and hopped up from his seat to offer his hand. Pyro hi-fived him from over the table.

“Clam chowder! Hell yeah! Best freakin’ soup there is!” he declared.

“What did I miss?”

Heads turned to Medic at the entrance.

“Nothin’ much,” Scout replied, sitting back down. “Just the arrival of the best freakin’ soup there is. But you can still eat it, so that kinda makes up for it, right?”

“Kind of,” Medic said, taking the seat next to Sniper.

Scout continued to ramble about the wonders of clam chowder - of which there were, apparently, many - and how it was a shame the mercs didn’t eat it more often. He had a lot to say on the matter.

All the while, Sniper was trying not to shift in his seat because Medic was _sitting right beside him._ He was tempted to do something, anything, but then he’d start blushing and make everything way too obvious.

It wasn’t as if this was the first time Medic had sat next to him; it was quite common for the supports to take up one or the other end of the dining table if they were present. That would then be the quieter side of the table for dinner, was how it usually turned out. The class groupings tended to just kind of sit together, and that was a decent indicator for the loudness level from the members - with the exception of Demoman and Pyro, of course.

In any case, Sniper simply hadn’t expected this. He should’ve, he knew he should’ve... the empty seat beside him had been the closest to the entrance, and Spy wasn’t present to take that spot. But he didn’t. He hadn’t gotten the chance to steel himself for the possibility of Medic sitting beside him and now he was sweating over it.

Medic was getting up. Sniper exhaled slowly and he managed to relax the slightest bit, even though Medic was probably going to take his seat again.

Sniper tried not to be too obvious about his watching the doctor walk over to Demoman at his seat. Medic was strange like that, making requests straight to his friend instead of asking over the table. Whatever he’d asked Demoman made the Scot laugh and nod before getting up himself.

Medic sat back down and fussed with his plate and utensil setup. Sniper gave him a look but said nothing despite his curiosity as to whatever Medic had asked. But maybe the inquiry would be rude or too prying. So he worked at his salad instead.

Sniper abhorred chickpeas, which were in the salad, so he was pushing them to the side. He managed to comb through most of the plate.

“Really, Herr Sniper?” Medic asked. He looked thoroughly amused.

“I don’t like chickpeas!” Sniper replied, indignant.

“Then give them to me. Don’t waste food.”

Sniper’s face burned as he tipped his plate over Medic’s and dumped the chickpeas down. Although he was relieved he didn’t have to eat them, he still felt ridiculous doing what he was doing.

“Snipes, just swallow ‘em without chewing!” Scout suggested, his mouth full with his own bit of salad. “That’s what I do with regular peas. Those are the worst.”

Sniper grimaced at that, but Engineer laughed.

“If he doesn’t like ‘em, then that can’t be helped. Let’s not force him to eat anything he doesn’t want to,” he said.

“I think he needs to be less picky and toughen up,” Soldier said.

“I agree,” Heavy said, though he was smiling.

“We shouldn’t make fun of Sniper’s bad taste in food,” Demoman said as he returned to the dining room, three bottles held in each hand by their necks between his fingers.

“Here,” he said, placing them down on the table.

“What for?” Scout asked.

“Now you know we shouldn’t have alcohol at the table. Things get too loud,” Engineer said, frowning.

Demoman waved his concern away. “It’s just cheap beer,” he said. “I trust everyone can handle themselves, aye?”

Medic took two for himself immediately. Sniper realized that this was probably what he’d asked Demoman for. And Demo couldn’t turn down a request for alcohol if Medic was the one asking, that was for sure.

“Here,” Medic said to Sniper, giving him a bottle.

“Thanks,” Sniper replied as he took it. He didn’t drink with the team often, but it wasn’t so bad. He screwed the top off.

Another trip to the kitchen later, and everyone had their own bottle of cheap Red Shed beer. There was a lot of it and other alcohol stashed around RED base, but it was common knowledge that one was not to hoard too much of it for their self - lest Demoman come after you. Demo liked to have some kind of control over the alcohol supply because he didn’t want anyone to drink as much as he did. Alcohol was his division, like medical worries were to Medic and mechanical junk was to Engineer.

“Cheers!” Demoman exclaimed, offering his bottle to the middle of the table. A lot of clinking later, and everyone took a swig as was customary for a team drink.

Sniper was a little sad Spy couldn’t join in. Of course, he never really could drink more than one ceremonial sip, but still. It would’ve been nice to have him present and making conversation with the others. And helping to loosen him up. When Spy was around and Sniper wasn’t in a sour mood, Spy made a conscious, genuine effort to bring his friend into the chatter. Sniper didn’t talk much himself as he didn’t have much to say, but Spy always tried for him, and that meant a lot.

Now the beer would have to be his supportive friend, which was painfully ironic.

Sniper had a lot of worries, a lot of little fears nagging at the back of his mind. He managed to drop them over the course of the meal as he ate and drank and talked to everyone. He even had a whole bowl of clam chowder at Scout’s insistence.

Somewhere halfway through his second bottle, he paused to think. And he thought about how he felt content. Not just because of the beer making him tipsy - though that certainly did help him in terms of bearing the volume level in the room. But... because he was talking to his teammates. Because his teammates were talking to him, and to each other.

The moments like these were what made the occasional mischief and pain worth the struggle. There was something precious to be found in the company of the whole team, Sniper couldn’t deny that even if he tried to be as cynical and negative as possible.

Sure, Scout had once grabbed and dropped a snake - a _venomous_ one - at his feet. Sure, Engineer had once scrapped one of the many rifles in his hoard for some extra metal. Sure, Soldier gave him a loud awakening any time he slept in base, using his bugle. Sure, Medic had once surgically implanted in him an extra kidney and hadn’t re-discovered it for a weak. Sure, Spy had once set his curtains on fire by accident.

But those things _happened._ In a place like this, with people like the ones that surrounded Sniper now... Those things weren’t strange or even that horrifying. That semblance of normalcy Sniper had once lived, even before the Australian Badlands? He’d never be able to reclaim it without remembering _this,_ this that was happening now.

Something that Spy had vehemently insisted was worth living. Something Spy had been very adamant about accepting.

Sniper took another swallow of his beer. He could hear Medic laughing at his side, at some awful joke Soldier made, and it made Sniper laugh, too. All those bumps to his arm when Medic got just a little closer than he needed to, all those light touches to his thigh under the table... It all thrilled Sniper, knowing that every single bit of contact could have a deeper meaning than accident.

Sniper laughed some more. The booze, the good meal (chickpeas excepted), Medic at his side, his teammates being pretty damn _bearable_ for once... He latched onto the happiness within him, bubbling up, and he didn’t let go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \\\ I am nearly halfway through my planned list/timeline of shit to write for the rest of this fic. Some of this shit has been pre-written, some of it will require birth.
> 
> Also I feel like I was going to have AN that was at least kind of entertaining but I don't remember what I was gonna put in? So have [some nice Bush Medicine](http://ubercharge.co.vu/post/125018087931/jf-madjesters1-last-fusion-i-just-wanted-to-a) [art I've reblogged, in](http://ubercharge.co.vu/post/123429281246/ramisiun-kind-sniper-aggressive-sniper-take) [lieu of what _could've_ been](http://ubercharge.co.vu/post/119602425391/vermillionsketcher-heal-me-u-otp-tho) [me being entertaining.](http://ubercharge.co.vu/post/118952466429/katrineicy-more-sniper-x-medic)
> 
>  
> 
> [And this too, while I'm in the tag.](http://ubercharge.co.vu/post/117186337056/pyrovisiongoggles-so-i-got-access-to-the-audio)


	18. Stride

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long. My keyboard broke and I was only able to snag a temporary one a bit ago. I do want to buy an actual good keyboard, though, because this one is kind of ass for TF2.
> 
> Also I need to get Paint Tool SAI working with pen pressure because I need that fucking program to draw shit. Like [Ask Tentaspy,](http://asktentaspy.tumblr.com) which is a thing I am now doing! //

He ate too much. Bloody hell, he’d eaten _way_ too much. Despite not having had any of the chickpeas, which were a pretty filling food, Sniper had eaten a lot of salad. And clam chowder, of course - Scout’s request. The first bowl had been pretty good, but after that? He’d gone too far.

Things might’ve been more bearable now had all the dinnertime meal choices not been so damn filling. Salad, soup, pasta, bread... alcohol, of course. It had all combined into a mess that left Sniper woozy and full.

He was in the infirmary now, taking up most of the space on one cot with his long legs alone. He was in the cot next to Spy’s. Sniper had a feeling that Spy was still asleep or... passed out. Same thing in the end.

And where was Medic? Sniper had to think about that for a second before remembering: the doctor was still in the dining room, last he saw. Demoman had one too many, so Pyro asked Medic to help with post-meal cleanup. The doctor had been more than happy to oblige.

He’d also told Sniper to get some rest.

Sniper was getting rest. Or trying to, through the sickening twist in his guts and the haze of alcohol. Though he’d managed to kick his shoes off before climbing in, that was about all he’d been able to do. He was clutching his stomach and groaning out loud into the infirmary.

At least he was alone, and it was dark, thus amplifying the reassurance in being alone. Even Medic’s desk lamp was off, because he hadn’t come back yet to turn it on and work as he so often did at night. The only light present in the room was coming in from outside, from the windows. The clouds had cleared from the sky - the stars and moon were out - which Sniper might be able to appreciate had the situation not been so physically unpleasant.

Sniper rubbed his face, knocking his aviators off. He really wanted another drink. Real bad. But he couldn’t even will himself to get up. Plus, the threat of the pounding hangover he’d have tomorrow... that was too much for him to deal with. Even just thinking about it made his head hurt.

At some point, failing to punch through the cloudy thoughts, Sniper had slumped down onto the cot and drifted off. It wasn’t the comfiest place for a rest, but that didn’t matter much when one was so far gone they were only sort of aware of their surroundings.

Sniper was snoring loudly, sprawled out in the starlight on the not-technically-designated-for-him cot. One of his arms was hanging off the edge.

Medic had stumbled in, also pretty tipsy himself, not too long later. For once, he wanted to sleep. Which, coincidentally, was how he knew he was drunker than he should’ve been. Then again, after a certain point of drunkenness, all he wanted to do was have _emotions._

When he saw Sniper passed out on the cot, Medic decided he was probably hovering somewhere between those two states of drunkenness. He was tired but he wanted to grab Sniper and kiss him and then do a lot more than kiss him.

“So peaceful,” Medic murmured, rubbing an eye and tilting his glasses as he did so.

Sniper was still snoring loudly and his limbs were sticking out every which way. His hat was drooping to the side, and the half of his hair that was visible was mussed. Also his aviators were on the floor for some reason.

It made Medic laugh, to see Sniper so disheveled. He knew Sniper slept a lot, and oftentimes in unconventional places, but this... this was too much for him to handle. So he fell into a fit of hooting laughter.

Though Sniper stirred and grunted a little, Medic didn’t stop. Well it seemed Sniper wouldn’t be getting up anytime soon, anyway. He was very much unconscious, and a heavy enough sleeper. Just as well; Medic wouldn’t have wanted to wake him up.

He collected himself, or at least tried to, in his state. When he hiccupped, he instinctively cleared his throat right after.

When he was settled, even if his position was awkward, Sniper really did look peaceful. It made Medic sigh, it made him start to feel things in his chest where feelings ached especially hard during tipsiness.

Medic didn’t want to dwell. He really, really didn’t.

Instead of just standing there and watching Sniper or triple-checking on Spy, he readied himself to go. But he didn’t head back to his bedroom until he kissed Sniper’s forehead - the side his hat wasn’t tilted on - and whispered ‘guten nacht’.

 

Sniper was woken up by the sound of Medic. Presumably getting ready for the day, but Sniper couldn’t really tell when his hangover was protesting his awakeness.

He rubbed his head and muttered a few obscenities under his breath as he waited for the light against his eyelids to stop burning. Oh, right. That was the sun. Sniper pawed at the window and fiddled with the blinds until they were blocking most of the light.

Medic was still rushing back and forth. Sniper wondered why he didn’t just grab what he needed at each section of the infirmary instead of picking out this and that from here and there. He really was scatterbrained. Also, he kept up a steady flow of German ramble as he went. Ticking items off a mental list, maybe?

“Sniper!” Medic exclaimed, nearly dropping his Medi Gun pack.

“G’mornin’, doc,” Sniper replied, running his gloved hand through his hair.

Medic blinked, but then he chuckled. “Hungover?” he asked.

“Yeah, a bit.”

At that, Medic set his Medi Gun and its pack back down on the counter. He pulled the Kritzkrieg’s medipack over one shoulder before taking the gun. With one hand, he adjusted the side dials, turned it on, and set the handle on lock. Then he dropped it on Sniper’s lap, followed by its pack.

“Ow!” Sniper hissed.

“Sorry,” Medic said, looking sheepish. “I’m a little... well, let me just tell you I was sitting in the Kritz beam for an hour after I woke up. I suppose I feel better now.”

Sniper set the pack on the window ledge. That was the benefit of having the cots in their sections by the windows, even if the windows shot too much damn morning light in Sniper’s eyes - they had walls at the header and foot to separate them from the other cots. But they also had the windowsill ledge to provide ample space for food bowls, drink glasses, and headache-curing medigun packs.

When Sniper had the pack upright on the ledge, he rolled the Kritzkrieg over beside it, and rubbed his thighs. The brief pain from Medic dropping a hundred pounds of equipment on his legs was gone thanks to the overheal.

“What time’s it? Did I wake up late? Y’coulda woken me up if I was gonna be late, y’know...”

“Relax, Sniper,” Medic said, dumping his Medi Gun and its pack on the examination table. “It’s only seven in the morning.”

Sniper frowned. “This is when I usually get up.”

“Better than most of our teammates,” Medic said with a weary sigh.

That made Sniper quirk a smile. It was true; only Soldier could _really_ be counted upon to be up at the nick of dawn, daily and consistently. Heavy, Engineer, Spy, Medic, and Sniper were considered punctual. Pyro was hit and miss. Scout and Demoman were mostly just miss, due to their lifestyles being somewhat dysfunctional.

“‘M gonna go take a shower while I can,” Sniper said.

Medic felt his face heat up, thinking about when he’d seen Sniper in the showers. It hadn’t been the first time, not by a long shot. But things tended to play out differently, since he’d _slept_ with Sniper and all.

“Do you... need anything?” he asked.

Sniper had his hat in a hand and was putting it on, but even through the aviators, Medic could’ve sworn he saw Sniper’s eyes flick down. For just a moment. And it made his heartbeat speed up to the point he was physically sickened by it.

“Nah,” Sniper said, voice low and still rough from grogginess. It sent a shiver down Medic’s spine and made him rue how unfair it was that Sniper was this attractive. “Not right now, doc. Maybe after battle.” Sniper flashed a toothy grin.

Medic ran a gloved hand through his hair. “Okay,” he said, feeling and sounding out of breath. “Gehen.”

Sniper pulled his shoes on and when he was off the bed and standing up, he made eye contact with Medic. The doctor was tinted brownish in his view but Sniper took in the sight of him anyway. Then he leaned in and pecked Medic on the cheek.

“I’ll see you later,” Sniper said, pulling away and walking past.

“See you,” Medic called softly, wistfully. He shut his eyes and exhaled.

 

Sniper had returned to his van for some clean clothes. It took him about ten seconds to gather them up, and he was about to go brew a pot of coffee when he remembered... He reached under his pillow and pulled out Medic’s paper. He ran his thumb over the creased edge, and he was tempted to unfold it. He didn’t.

With a deep breath, he stood back up. The pillow was placed back over the note, and the change of clothes was gathered.

Sniper didn’t have the showers to himself; Scout, Demoman, and Soldier were already there. He could tell because their clothes had been draped all over the bench in front of the lockers. There had been instances in the past when clothing theft was a problem - especially with socks - but Sniper didn’t have to worry about that now. A stern lecture from Medic later, along with a fair amount of clothing returns, had rendered the issue dormant. Also, Scout had been a frequent perpetrator and he was in the showers. He _always_ took forever in there.

Sniper was in and out before Scout was finished. He still heard the runner engaged in a loud duet with Soldier.

“American woman!” Soldier began.

“She gonna mess your mind!” Scout continued.

Sniper squinted, pulling his towel around his waist. It didn’t matter how long he’d lived in this country, he’d never understand it or its citizens or its... culture.

“Americans,” Demoman said, voicing Sniper’s thoughts. The Scot was sitting on the bench. He’d pushed the clothing to the side so as not to sit on top of it, and his own clothes were draped over his thigh.

“Right?” Sniper asked, rubbing his hair with his second towel as he took a seat. “Bloody mad.”

“The lot of ‘em,” Demo replied, nodding in agreement. “How’re you doin’?”

“Bit tired from last night. Had a hangover but, uh, y’know. Better now,” Sniper said. He stopped himself before mentioning the fact that Medic had been the one to cure his hangover, with the help of the Kritzkrieg.

Demoman clapped a hand on Sniper’s shoulder. There was a mischievous glint in his eyes and Sniper had no idea how to react to that.

“What?” he asked.

“You can tell me, you know,” Demoman said, wiggling his eyebrows.

“What do you mean?” Sniper asked, pulling his towel down around his neck and frowning.

Demoman removed his hand and shook his head, gave a big sigh as he did so. He pulled his white, long-sleeved shirt on.

“About the doc,” he said. He paused before he went on. “He’s my best friend, Sniper. I’m not sayin’ I need to know everything that happens in his life, but there _are_ things I’d certainly appreciate knowin’.”

“Like what?”

“Like if you two slept together or not and- hey! Dunnae give me that look, lad. Listen - I might not know what that is that’s between you two, but it’s obviously somethin’. None a’ my business what that somethin’ is, but I can’t help wantin’ to know. He’s not very talkative on... this kind of subject. Whatever this subject is.”

Sniper rubbed his face with the towel. He let it fall to his lap and he turned to Demo with an expression of disbelief on his face.

“Obvious?!” he demanded.

Demoman gave a snort. “Alright, ‘obvious’ might be a bit too much. I suppose you wouldnae think you’re bein’ obvious if you’ve put effort into makin’ it not be that way. But to _me,_ it is. We might not talk often, Sniper, but I talk to the doc plenty. He’s easier to read than he thinks.”

“Yeah... guess so. Sometimes,” Sniper mumbled, patting his chest with the towel. He turned over to Demo, this time with a glare. “And _no,_ we didn’t sleep together. Why do you assume that?”

Demoman had his red shirt half on, and he started laughing.

“Bloody hell, put the shirt on before you do that!” Sniper exclaimed.

The threat of Demo getting caught in the shirt then Sniper having to help him out was all too real; that kind of thing had happened before, right in the locker room.

“Alright, alright,” Demoman said, yanking the shirt down. He wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. Or maybe he was just pretending for effect while catching his breath. “I just think it’s funny,” he finally said.

“Think what’s funny?”

“Well, you act like it’s such a terrible thing for me to assume you and the doc slept together. Or even to ask, because I’m not sayin’ I think you really did it, even though I _do_ think that. But what I mean is - you’re both _adults._ We dunnae have a lot of options around us, if you get what I mean. If you like men and you’re lucky enough to find one you like in those few options... why d’you think it’s such a bad thing for you to take him?”

Sniper wasn’t sure how to reply to that. There was a myriad of things he wanted to say and he wasn’t saying any of them.

“Be a li’l more mature, aye?” Demoman said, not in an unkind way. He patted Sniper’s back.

“We didn’t sleep together,” Sniper grumbled.

Demoman looked surprised at that. He did a pretty good job of expressing that despite the fact he only had one eye to express it with.

“Really? He seems like the type who’d... Ah, nevermind that. If you do end up in his bed-”

“Oh, I’ve already done that.”

“Wait, what?”

“I mean...” Sniper blushed. He didn’t want to be talking about this here and now. “We didn’t _sleep_ together, but we did... sleep together. And also some other things and - look, I’m not gonna go into detail. Not in the locker room.”

Demoman nodded respectfully. “Aye, that’s fine,” he said. “But just one more question, did you-”

“Gooood morning!”

Demo and Sniper turned to the showers’ entrance to see Scout.

“G’mornin’, Mike,” Sniper replied. He was actually grateful to be interrupted. Whatever Demoman was about to ask, he was pretty sure he wouldn’t have wanted to answer it.

“Hey, you actually called me by my name for once,” Scout said, smacking Sniper’s arm with his towel. “Thanks, Robin,” he said, grinning.

“Shove it,” Sniper replied, getting up.

“Aw, c’mon, don’t be like that, Rob. Can I call you Rob? It sounds like a nickname that could kinda fit you.”

“Don’t call me that. And no it doesn’t!”

Scout gave a shrug. “I mean, you do associate with _Spy.”_

“I think you’re exaggeratin’,” Demo said with an eye roll.

“But not by _much,_ y’see,” Scout replied, making a hand gesture that was probably intended to supplement his words.

“Ah, get dressed, you mongrels,” Sniper said, pushing Demo over so Scout could take a seat.

The two were both laughing - at Sniper’s expense, no less - but they didn’t make any further comments. For that, Sniper supposed he was grateful.

 

“Doc? I came back for my glove, I think I left it here.”

Sniper peeked into the infirmary via the open door. He knocked before pushing it aside.

“I mean, I’m _pretty_ sure I left it on the bed here. If it’s not here, I guess I dropped it in the locker room or somethin’?”

Sniper scanned the bed he’d slept on last night. He flapped the blanket, but nothing fell off of it. His glove was probably on the locker room floor... But he could worry about that later. Where was Medic? Surely not out for breakfast already? It was only seven twenty or so.

“Doc? You feelin’ okay?” Sniper called, looking around. 

Medic had to be in the infirmary. The magic room’s door was shut, along with his bedroom’s. The bathroom door was open but there wasn’t anyone inside. Sniper didn’t like poking around the magic room with its prototype guns and failed gun carcasses. He opted to check the doctor’s bedroom instead, even if he was kind of intruding.

“Medic!” Sniper yelled.

He knocked on the door and tried the knob. It was unlocked.

“Was ist es?!”

Sniper recoiled at the reply. He wasn’t sure if Medic was inviting him in, or telling him to fuck off, or what. Well, it couldn’t hurt to find out, could it? The door was open anyway. Sniper turned the knob and pushed the door open.

“Holy dooley!”

He regretted it almost immediately.

“Sniper...”

“Bloody fuckin’ hell, ‘m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude, I thought you were just... um... I don’t know. Not this. I’ll leave you to, uh, take care of... that.”

Sniper was not making any effort to shield his eyes because he couldn’t bring himself to do it. It was difficult, considering Medic was spread out on his bed. His pants were unbuckled and pulled halfway down his thighs. His dress shirt and white coat were unbuttoned so his chest and abdomen were exposed. His tie had been loosened around his neck, his glasses were askew, his hair was out of place. His face was flushed, there was a look in his eyes that Sniper felt was _predatory,_ not unlike how he probably looked himself, whenever he was hunting. But most importantly, Medic’s gloves were off and his hands were bare. That was probably for the best - one of them was around his erection.

“Come over here,” Medic said. The words were quiet but Sniper didn’t have to stop stammering to hear them.

Sniper kicked his shoes off and climbed right onto the bed.

“Finish me off,” Medic whispered as he relished the feel of Sniper leaning over him, being above him.

“Yes,” Sniper said. He proceeded to wrap his own hand around Medic’s before whispering sweet nothings into his ear.

Their fingers interlaced before Medic pulled his hand away to grab the back of Sniper’s shirt with both of his hands for support. Sniper had low, dirty words to give under his breath, harsh growled snatches of encouragement to keep Medic gasping and whimpering beneath him.

“Just like that, love. You like that? I swear I can feel how close you are. You’re gorgeous, you look amazing when you’re turned on, you’re a real beaut...”

Medic whined softly, clutching at fabric. Sniper’s hand worked at his hard-on and he pressed the other to the bed to keep him upright. His fist clenched around the sheets and he knew he just showered and this was going to be messy but he didn’t care, he really didn’t care.

Because here, right in front of him, was Medic. Moaning his name - _”Robin”_ \- out of breath from his touch and possibly even thoughts of him before he even stepped into the bedroom... And here was something Sniper wanted to hold onto.

“Ich liebe dich, ich liebe dich,” Medic gasped, really clawing at Sniper’s back.

And here was something Sniper didn’t want to let go, and here was something Sniper felt was _real_ even if it was in the midst of a war where death was trivial and-

“I’m gonna-”

Sniper sat up to hold Medic’s hip down with a hand while pumping him through his orgasm with the other. The noises that came out of the doctor’s mouth, it was all so carnal, full of sated desire and lust.

“Th-thank you, Robin...”

“No problem,” Sniper said, leaning over.

“I should shower now.”

“Or I could do _this,”_ Sniper said. He pressed his lips to Medic’s stomach, giving him light kisses and cleaning up the mess with his tongue.

Medic cried out. “Aufhören! Stop! I’m-” He started laughing. “I’m ticklish, ach mein gott. I know you aren’t, but- _Robin, please!”_

Sniper pulled away, smiling.

“Sorry, you should clean up on your own,” he said, reaching towards Medic’s face to straighten his glasses.

“I will. You should eat breakfast.”

“Doctor’s orders?”

“Ja, of course.”

Sniper gave him one more kiss before he got off of him and sat up to put his shoes on.

“I’ll see you later, doc.”

“See you.”

 

The sky was looking pretty clear for battle, rain-wise. There was still a decent amount of cloud cover among the muted blue, but not enough to threaten actual downfall.

Sniper was fidgeting on one of respawn room’s benches as his teammates got their things ready and talked strategy around him. He wasn’t sure if he was thinking about anything in specific or not, because all the solid thoughts came and went before he could dwell on any one item.

“Robin.”

Sniper looked up. Spy was standing in front of him, impeccable as always. He looked so... not-ill that Sniper had to shake his head a little. He wondered if battle had already begun and he was trapped in some pre-respawn stupor. A dream of sorts, where his friend was okay and everything else was also okay.

“Yeah?”

Sniper made eye contact. No, this wasn’t any kind of dream. Spy was an expert at concealing his true emotions and his thoughts, but he couldn’t hide what was in his eyes. He was tired. He was skirting on the edges of consciousness, and Sniper could tell, in a mere glance, that Spy wasn’t in complete control of his mental facilities. Not like he liked to be, at least.

“Bon matin.”

Spy had a look on his face, too. There was the near imperceptible raise of an eyebrow at Sniper’s expression. Sniper knew he’d shown some surprise, at least a little, at the fact his friend would try this hard to hide his state of mind and wellbeing. Spy looked like he wanted to say something beyond small talk, or even... medium talk, whatever could be considered a little more than small talk between close friends.

“Back at’cha, spook.”

Sniper broke the gaze as he scooched over on the bench and patted the spot beside him. Spy took the seat without a word.

“Have things changed?” Sniper asked.

He didn’t have to make eye contact with Spy, or even look at him, to know what he was feeling and thinking. More or less. Of course, Spy always had a dash of unpredictability up his sleeve. He relished being enigmatic and Sniper knew that. But Sniper really could tell that Spy wasn’t feeling that great. Sure, he was on the field during setup with the rest of the mercs. But he masked his struggles well, always had, always did.

“You’re the one who didn’t want to hear philosophy,” Spy chuckled, toying with his balisong instead of a cigarette.

“Maybe not, but sometimes, shit makes you think.”

Spy took a deep breath. “It does,” he agreed.

_“Mission begins in five minutes.”_

They sat there together, not speaking. There was nothing urgent that needed to be said out loud. All the words remained within their heads.

There was also an interesting bit of clamour when Engineer and Pyro came in late because Engineer had overslept. Pyro had been the one to wait for him, because they insisted the rest of the team needed to be on the field. There were some jokes passed around about the irony of Engineer coming in late, when he was usually a huge stickler for punctuality.

Neither Spy nor Sniper had anything to contribute to the conversation. Spy had actually drifted off on his friend’s shoulder, and Sniper was half-asleep himself.

“Already napping?”

Sniper started, in turn making Spy wake up.

“What?” he asked, rubbing an eye. He could see a Medi Gun and pristine white coat directly in front of him. Medic’s, of course.

“Did you not get enough sleep last night?” Medic asked, sounding concerned as he aimed the gun over.

“I did, I did,” Sniper replied, basking in the healing rays.

Spy stretched on the bench and yawned into a gloved palm.

“Hey, don’t look at me like that, doc... I slept plenty, okay?”

“If you say so.”

There was a brief moment when neither of them knew what to say and they were just staring at each other.

“Keep that up any longer and even the slowest of our teammates are going to be pointing their fingers at you two,” Spy said with a very smug look on his face.

Sniper’s reaction was immediate. “Can it,” he growled.

Medic made a choked noise in his throat and fumbled with the handle of his Medi Gun. He almost dropped the machine before turning and walking away to the side of the room where Demoman and Soldier were talking.

“Look what you did,” Sniper grumbled.

“It was a harmless comment,” Spy replied, settling back against the wall.

“Yeah, whatever.”

Before Spy could reply, respawn was filled with another loud announcement.

_“Mission begins in sixty seconds.”_

Sniper got up and slung his rifle over his shoulder. Spy was flipping his knife and didn’t bother stopping as he followed Sniper up to the doors.

“What’d’you think we’ll do today?” Sniper asked.

“I don’t know. I tuned out Soldier’s instructions before I fell asleep,” Spy said.

“That’s not a good thing,” Sniper replied, snorting.

“Perhaps, but my job is always the same regardless of our entire team’s strategy.”

“Guess so. Just don’t tell Soldier you weren’t payin’ attention.”

“I would not dream of it.”

Sniper gave a nervous chuckle, shook his head a little.

“He’s a bloody lunatic.”

Spy grinned. “So is the Medic, but you aren’t about to fall down a flight of stairs to get into Soldier’s pants.”

“Shut up.”

Spy put his knife away. He didn’t say anything, but he gazed up at the cloudy sky, looking pleased.

“‘S not like I fell down on purpose.”

“You’ve done other things on purpose for him, I am sure.”

“Yeah, and it’s none of your business what those things are.”

Spy hummed. “True,” he said.

“So keep your nosy self out of this.”

“Do not try to bind me to a promise you know I will not be able to keep.”

“Don’t be like that, spook.”

“Don’t be like that, bushman,” Spy responded, mimicking Sniper’s tone.

“Proper rude bastard, aren’tcha?”

"And yet you still tolerate me.”

“‘S a real miracle.”

“It truly is.”

_“Mission begins in ten seconds.”_

Sniper turned involuntarily to the other side of respawn. He could see Medic chatting with Soldier and Demo, but he couldn’t hear what they were saying. But he did also see Medic, who was standing with his side facing Sniper, flick his gaze over. It was for a second and it made Sniper want to walk over and kiss him right in respawn. He didn’t, though. Before he turned back to the door, he could’ve sworn he caught the sight of Medic smiling. Just the tiniest bit.

_“Five, four, three, two, one.”_

“See you later,” Spy said.

Sniper gave him a wave and watched him go. But Sniper didn’t want to get going himself; it was a better idea to hang back to see how the initial midfight went off. Then he could pick a spot to snipe the stragglers from.

There was a loud bout of hollering. Sniper walked a little closer to see the Scouts were out, along with both Demoman combos. The BLU Soldier was there, too, but Sniper wasn’t sure where his own team’s Soldier had rocket jumped off to.

“Gonna get goin’?”

Sniper turned to see Engineer with large toolbox on his shoulders. He dropped it down to start building a Teleporter.

“Yeah,” Sniper said. “Just wanted to make sure we weren’t gonna be pushed back right away.”

“I think you’ll be fine if Pyro and Heavy are on the cart. You should go support the others.”

Sniper gave a nod and headed up, but then he saw Scout running towards him.

“Outta the way, I got bullets in my chest!” he yelled.

Sniper stepped out of the way and Scout careened right into respawn. Hopefully he made it in safe.

“Always full of energy, that boy,” Engineer said.

Scout re-emerged from respawn with no visible bullet holes in his chest. He had a scowl on his face and the fact that he hadn’t run back off to the front lines made Sniper uneasy.

“What’s up?” he asked.

“Snipes, c’mon,” Scout said, reloading his Scattergun.

“What is it?” Sniper asked.

Engineer turned to Scout, and he was frowning, too. Scout rolled his eyes, pointed his gun at Engineer’s head, and fired twice. Sniper recoiled as the spray of blood and gore splattered against his side.

“Bloody hell!”

The Engineer’s body dropped and, with a bit of smoke, revealed itself to be the BLU Spy’s.

“I can’t believe you didn’t notice, Snipes.”

“He was setting a Teleporter down _right_ before you got here! And I didn’t hear anything when he got stabbed, whenever that was.”

Scout flicked the brim of Sniper’s hat up with the muzzle of his gun.

“The Your Eternal Reward makes the kills silent, remember?”

“Okay, but how was I s’posed to know he was usin’ that knife?”

“You weren’t. I’ll catch ya later!”

“Alright,” Sniper said, watching Scout run back up to the cart.

Before he left, he turned back to the BLU Spy’s corpse on the ground. Huh. That was odd - there wasn’t a watch on his wrist. Or his suit had been pulled up to conceal it? But maybe not. If he really didn’t have a cloaking wristwatch, then that had to mean...

Sniper whipped his kukri out and sliced behind him in a wide arc, breathing heavily. There was nobody there, it seemed. He turned back to the corpse and poked at the wrists. There really didn’t seem to be anything there, which was very much disconcerting.

He wasn’t sure if the BLU Spy would be coming back for him, considering his close proximity to spawn. It would be best to just move on.

“Herr Sniper.”

Sniper whipped around, still wielding his kukri. He relaxed at the sight of Medic.

“G’morning,” he said.

“What happened to Engineer? He usually has a Teleporter set up by now.”

“He got stabbed.”

“And... you didn’t?”

Sniper cocked his head and didn’t respond for a moment.

“Nah,” he finally said.

“Well, alright. I find that amusing, as the Spy usually targets you first.”

“Sometimes he goes for Truckie, depends on his mood I s’pose,” Sniper said, shrugging.

Medic laughed. “That sounds like him.”

“Look, doc,” Sniper said, taking a step towards him.

“Ja?”

Sniper noted the slight tilt of his head and raise of eyebrows, the look in his eyes - which were blue and grey but mostly...

“Sniper!”

Sniper’s arm was tense and his expression was dark.

“What?” he growled.

His kukri had just missed the doctor’s abdomen. It would’ve connected had Medic not stepped back.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Spychecking.”

“I’m _not-”_

Sniper was ready to spring forward and shove his kukri into Medic’s throat, but that turned out to be unnecessary. He was thrown off by Medic falling forward, and was forced to drop the blade to catch him.

He looked down at the corpse in his hands. There was a syringe in the back of his head, prompting Sniper to look up back to respawn.

There was Medic - the _real_ Medic - loading another bolt into his Crusader’s Crossbow. And that made Sniper drop the BLU Spy’s body to the ground.

 

“Battle wasn’t that bad,” Scout said.

“Oui, but we still lost today,” Spy replied.

“Coulda been worse, right?”

Medic chimed in, “Not by much.” He had his Medi Gun trained on Soldier, who was only sort of conscious, lying down on the bench.

The REDs were packing their things up in respawn and licking their wounds. The sky had grown cloudier over the course of the day, but no rain had fallen to grace the field. That was probably for the best; nobody liked walking back to base in a heavy downpour.

“We’ll get ‘em tomorrow, I know it,” Scout said, tightening the blood-soaked bandage wrapped around his upper arm.

Medic tsked. “You need to change that.”

“I can change it at base!”

“You will change it now. There are supplies in the cabinet. Go fetch them and put them to use.”

Scout groaned and griped on the whole short walk to the resupply cabinet. He dug out one of the First Aid kits and sifted through it for gauze.

“Don’t be so hard on the kid,” Engineer said as he placed tools back in their box.

“If I don’t tell you all to take care of yourselves, none of you will do it.”

“He has a point,” Sniper said, approaching the conversation.

Medic gave a nod of appreciation towards Sniper. There was the hint of a smirk on his face, and smugness in his half-lidded eyes, too. He always looked grouchy if he wasn’t full-on smiling, and now was no exception. Sniper had to stop himself from staring.

“Let’s go!” Scout exclaimed, with fresh bandages around his arm.

“Help me get Soldier to Engineer’s truck first,” Medic replied.

“No chance with this arm, doc. Get Heavy to help you,” Scout replied, retrieving his guns from the bench.

Medic sighed. “I had to run him through respawn. Don’t you pay any attention.”

“Ehh,” Scout replied, yawning. “Can I ride with you today, Snipes?”

Sniper grunted. “If you want,” he said.

“Sweet! I call shotgun!”

“You can’t have shotgun, that’s Spy’s seat. Always is.”

“Spy told me he’s tired and he already took your bed, so can’t I have shotgun?”

Sniper frowned. “Guess so.”

“Spy’s... what?” Medic asked, eyebrows knitting in consternation. Then he waved the thought away with a shake of his head. “Nevermind,” he said, taking his medipack off. “Sniper, come with me.”

“What? Why me?”

“You’re the least injured of our teammates. At the moment, at least. Just help me carry Soldier to Engineer’s pickup.”

"Guess I'll get my rifle later," Sniper muttered. “Did he really bring it? I thought you were kidding... base isn’t far from here. I mean, I only drove ‘cause I didn’t want to make Spy walk.”

“I know, Sniper. He brought it today because he was planning to go grocery shopping right after battle, but he’s willing to make trip back to base anyway. I’d rather bring Soldier back in the truck than force him to go through respawn again.”

“What about Heavy?”

“He’ll be back in the next five minutes. Pyro’s going to wait for him. But I don’t want to make them wait another twenty or so minutes for Soldier, too.”

“Fair enough,” Sniper sighed. “Let’s go.”

“This would’ve been easier had you just agreed in the first place,” Medic replied. “Take his legs. No, not like that. Don’t face me - turn around, then pick his legs up. Yes, there you go.”

Sniper was careful in his grip. He actually groaned at the pain in his back when he helped to lift Soldier up, and his audible complaint made Medic laugh.

“Don’t laugh, you’ll drop the bloke.”

“I’m sorry, it’s just... you’re not even that old. But the way you act would suggest otherwise.”

Sniper frowned and muttered some expletives. Medic had to suppress another laugh as he brought his arms around Soldier’s front and laced his hands on top of his chest.

“Okay, I have him. Start walking. Scout, get the door!”

Scout was startled at his locker and nearly dropped the handful of bullets he was transferring from his pocket to the shelf. He dumped the ammunition in a beat-up box and darted forward to trigger the automatic door.

“Danke.”

“No prob.”

Sniper could already tell that Medic was doing most of the carrying. He felt he was really just there so as to have Soldier’s legs upright and not dragging on the ground.

Soldier mumbled something that Sniper didn’t quite catch. Medic, though, apparently did.

“Ja, Soldier, we can tonight. But for now, rest.”

“What’d he ask?” Sniper asked.

“For apple pie and ice cream, or something like that. It’s classic American cuisine, isn’t it?”

“Uhh... I guess so. They really like it, don’t they?”

“Very much. Do you remember the time Soldier ate half the pie before dinner was even complete?”

Sniper laughed. “Yeah, Pyro was pretty upset with him after that. Hey, Truckie! Can you get the door?”

Engineer was on the back of the pickup, putting his toolbox down and grabbing something else.

“Come over here to the back,” he said. “I’ve got a blanket you can lay him down on. I don’t think he can sit up front.”

“That would be better. Do you have a pillow for his head?” Medic asked.

“Hm, don’t think so. Will a pile of clothes do? Clean, I promise.”

“Ja, that will be fine. Come over here, Sniper.”

Medic and Sniper had to shift their hold on Soldier to help lift him up onto the back of the pickup, but they managed it. Medic climbed on to help Engineer set him down onto the blanket.

“Think he’ll be safe up there if he’s unconscious?” Sniper asked.

“Safe enough,” Engineer replied, patting his gloved hands together.

Medic hopped off neatly, and Sniper had to resist the urge to watch his coat flutter down into place.

“Take Demoman with you to watch him just in case.”

Engineer laughed, asked, “Shouldn’t _you_ be doing that?”

“I’m tired, Aaron. Cut me some slack.”

“Alright, alright. I’ll go grab him,” Engineer replied, nodding in understanding.

“Danke. I have to check on Spy, anyway.”

Medic headed over to Sniper’s van, where Scout was already bouncing up and down on the passenger seat, fiddling with the radio.

Scout noticed Medic to his side, so he rolled the window down and rested his elbow on the edge.

“Hey, doc. Come to gaze upon me before headin’ back?”

Medic grimaced. “Please, Scout. I came to check on Spy.”

“Aw, c’mon. Don’tcha ever come to check on me?” Scout asked, pushing the door open and following Medic.

“Where’s Sniper?” Medic asked as he stepped into the van.

“Um... somewhere, I guess? Weren't you just with him? I think he said he was gonna get his rifle, actually.”

“Good, because he probably doesn’t want us creeping around in here, regardless of reason. Actually, _I_ have a reason. You don’t.”

“Shh, Spy’s asleep, remember?”

Medic sighed and approached the bed. Spy was curled up on it. His shoes had been set on the floor.

"He looks kinda dead.”

Medic shot a glare at Scout in the dim van, but turned back to Spy. He removed a red rubber glove and took Spy’s hand. When that didn’t elicit a response, he pulled the sleeve and edge of the gloves aside, then pressed two fingers to his pulse.

“He’s not dead,” Medic said. “And keep your voice down.”

“Scout? I thought you wanted to take the passenger seat, isn’t that what shotgun means? ‘M not gonna let you _drive_ this bleedin’ thing, you know.”

Sniper’s voice came from outside.

“I still have to get my medipack,” Medic said, getting up. “Watch Spy.”

“Wow, I wonder what’s gonna happen with him? Oh right, I know. He’s gonna keep sleeping.”

“Fine, go sit up front. I’ll have to care for him and Soldier back at base, anyway.”

“I’m just pullin’ your leg, doc. Go get your medical crap ‘cause it’s not like I got anything better to do than sit here,” Scout said, taking a seat at the foot of the bed.

Medic stood there for a little longer before turning and hopping out. He nearly bumped right into Sniper, whose rifle dropped to the ground.

“Jesus, doc! Give a bloke a bloody heart attack, why don’t you?!”

“Sorry, Sniper, I didn’t know you were right there. I was just checking on Spy,” Medic replied as he picked the gun up and handed it over.

“Where’s Mike?”

“Um, Scout?”

“Yeah, whatever.”

“He’s inside. I told him to watch Spy even though Spy’s sleeping, but I have a feeling he’ll take a nap, too.”

“But... there’s only one bed, doc.”

Medic gave an amused smile. “A battle’s worth of tiredness waits for nothing, Herr Sniper.”

“Long as he doesn’t bother Spy, I can’t really argue with that.”

“I’m sure he’ll be on his best behaviour.”

Sniper stepped into the van, but turned back to Medic almost immediately.

“I think he’s already asleep.”

“Excellent. I’m going to grab my Medi Gun.” Medic looked up to Sniper. “Come with me,” he added.

“Alright. ‘S that all you have to do? My head’s startin’ to hurt, so the sooner we get back, the better.”

Medic took Sniper by the forearm and pulled him towards respawn.

“Ja, that’s all I have to do. I’d help you out if I had the Kritzkrieg with me.”

“‘S alright, I’ll be fine.”

“If you say so,” Medic said, waving his hand in front of the door to open it.

Sniper had never felt the need to bring that habit up in conversation, because Medic always did that when confronted with an automatic door. Assuming his hands weren’t full, of course. It was interesting, Sniper had to admit. He wondered why Medic didn’t just walk up to the door like everybody else did. Well... maybe it was because of those few times Scout ran towards the door faster than it could react, and he’d crash right into it.

“Ah, there it is.”

Medic retrieved his gear from the bench. There was blood on it - both the bench and the medipack with gun attached. But Medic didn’t balk at that, he just put the pack on and waved Sniper back towards the door.

“See you later, Pyro,” Sniper said.

Pyro was doodling on a sheet of crumpled paper on the floor. They mumbled a goodbye to pair before returning to their drawing. Looked a bit like runes...

“Out, out,” Medic said, pressing his hands to Sniper’s back to hurry him.

“No rush, doc,” Sniper replied.

Medic looked around in a fashion that Sniper deemed downright paranoid. Engineer had already driven back to base with Soldier and Demoman in tow. Spy and Scout were in the van. Pyro was waiting for Heavy to respawn.

So Medic pushed Sniper past respawn’s walls, into the tree cover. Then he gave the marksman a kiss.

“Now isn’t really the- _mmmffuck.”_

Medic had Sniper pinned to a tree.

“Hey, we’re never gonna get back if you keep pashin’ on my neck like that.”

“Mm, Scout and Spy can wait...”

“Good point, but what if Heavy respawns and he and Pyro come out, and they hear us? They’re gonna wonder what the hell their teammates are doin’ in the bushes and-”

“Sniper.”

“Yeah?”

“Your argument would have more... veracity, if your hand wasn’t on my ass.”

Sniper reddened and raised his hands.

“Okay, you got me there,” he said.

Medic levitated Sniper’s aviators off of his face, and just stood there. The eye contact alone was electrifying; they didn’t need to be frotting for it to be meaningful.

“Let’s go back,” Medic said.

“Yeah.”

Medic leaned in for a chaste kiss, and he pulled away. He didn’t step out of the forest until he was sure nobody was going to see him and Sniper coming out of it.

Nobody was there; they were in the clear. The two headed back to the van.

“You can have the passenger seat, ‘cause Spy and Scout are both in the back.”

“And I was starting to worry I’d have to call shotgun before being able to take it.”

Sniper took the driver’s seat and felt a giddy thrill watching Medic taking the seat beside him. He was a bit sad it wasn’t Spy, but... at least Medic was there. That did help him feel a little better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \\\ [As promised, a very important audio post linked at the end of this chapter.](http://ubercharge.co.vu/post/125624669826/pyrovisiongoggles-i-decided-to-make-a-sequel)
> 
> Btw the handjob in this chapter _was_ originally gonna be a part of it, planned from the start (more or less). But... by the time I got to the end, I realized I'd forgotten to write it and I was going to leave it out entirely. But then I didn't.


	19. Run

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sup this update is just sort of barely kinda on time, woulda gone faster had i the innate knowledge of certain THINGS but, authorial research is a duty authors must embrace
> 
> I renamed the Sniper to Robin. If you’ve been keeping up so far, I’m sorry if this change is kind of weird and uncalled for (it is indeed both of those things, most of all for myself as I really have started to think of him as ‘Lawrence’). I did this because I wanted to make Weglaufen canon to a specific TF2verse of mine and I already have a RED Sniper named Lawrence. Apologies for any mental inconvenience this may cause as you continue to read, and I hope you guys like the name. //
> 
> P.S. If there are any particles involving the name ‘Lawrence’ remaining in the fic, please tell me where and in which chapter so I can fix it. Thank you.

Miraculously enough, Scout had Spy awake by the end of the brief car trip. He and Sniper helped support the Frenchman on the way back into base, to the infirmary. Medic opened all the doors. Soldier was already lying on the examination table.

“How did they bring him in here?” Medic asked, looking around.

But the four - and unconscious fifth - were alone in the infirmary; there was no sign of their teammates.

“Truckie and Demo prob’ly carried him in,” Scout suggested. “Plopped him down and now they’re off shopping.”

Medic cursed. “I forgot to ask them to buy me some more glassware,” he sighed.

“If you’re lucky, Engineer’ll remember,” Sniper said, helping Spy onto his cot.

“Ja, perhaps... I doubt it,” Medic muttered, setting his Medi Gun and its pack down onto the docking station. “And perhaps they will also buy us things we actually need.”

“Don’t hope for a miracle, docteur.”

“Get some rest, Herr Spy. I’d rather you not waste your energy trying to talk to us.”

“Right. Well, uh, doc? Can I take the Kritzkrieg?” Sniper asked, hovering behind Medic.

“Nein. I may need it. More importantly, Spy may need it. You can use it as long as you’re willing to stay in here.”

“We can play checkers!” Scout suggested.

“You are not gettin’ me to play checkers if I’m still sober,” Sniper said. “I need to put my things away. I’ll come back later if my headache gets any worse.”

“You are free to take some painkillers,” Medic said as he worked at his large Medi Gun rig above the table.

“Cabinet’s locked, isn’t it?” Sniper asked, putting his rifle down and drifting towards the counter.

“Oh. Right. Here, catch,” Medic said, fishing the keys out of his inner coat pocket.

As soon as he turned back around to face Soldier’s limp form on the table, he heard the metallic jangle of his keys hitting the floor.

“Nice catch,” Scout quipped as he took a seat on the end of Spy’s cot.

“Shut it,” was Sniper’s disgruntled reply.

He snatched the keys - miraculously, his back didn’t complain much - and began inspecting them. Some of them were more scratched up than others, some of them didn’t look like regular keys at all. And there was this cute little charm or something... wait-

“Bloody hell, what the fuck is that?!” Sniper yelled, nearly dropping the keys.

Medic didn’t even have to turn around to answer, “Blood and bones. Well, the latter isn’t real. Those are just lockpicks.”

“You have good taste in keyring accessories,” Spy murmured.

“Please sleep, Herr Spy.”

“Okay, so these aren’t real bones, but the _blood_ is real,” Sniper said, holding the keyring away from his face even as he inspected it.

“It’s not mine!” Medic replied, indignant.

“That doesn’t make it any better, doc!”

“Whose blood is it?” Scout asked, grinning.

“None of your business.”

Sniper jiggled the bottle a little. There was a screw embedded firmly into the cork that sealed the deep red liquid. Medic watched him from his peripheral vision.

“This isn’t blood,” he whispered.

“Very observant, Robin,” Medic replied quietly, smiling. His gaze flicked back down to his work, which, at the moment, was Soldier’s wounded torso.

That more or less confirmed his thoughts. It looked like blood, but Sniper had a feeling it was something more fantastical than that. A bit of magic ink for the go, not unlike the kind Spy had used to purge Sniper... or something like that. All that magic junk went over his head.

“So,” Sniper said, in his regular speaking voice. “Where’s the drug cabinet?”

“The dru- right. The painkillers. Right at the end there,” Medic said, pausing his ministrations to point at the cabinet he was referring to.

Sniper nodded and walked up to it. “Great. Now which one’s the key?” he asked.

“There’s a gold key, kind of dull. A lot of scratches on both sides, possibly burnt if I haven’t cleaned it since the last, ah, situation.”

Sniper flipped through the keyring, careful not to jostle the bottle. He was sure Medic sealed it tightly, but at the same time, he knew how careless the doctor could be. As charming as that was, the fact didn’t help him now.

“Do you need help?” Scout asked as he fussed with Spy’s blankets.

“Nah, I think I found it,” Sniper replied as he picked a key out.

“Excellent, because _I_ need help. Scout’s taking my blanket.”

Was this the right key?

“Am not!”

Only one way to find out.

“Don’t do this to a sick person.”

_Shhk._

“Hey, I’m just-”

Sniper muttered in annoyance, returning to the keyring.

“Herr Spy, please.”

Maybe _this_ was the right one? It looked like what Medic had been describing.

“This is his fault, docteur!”

“Will you two shut up?!” Sniper barked, forcing silence into the infirmary.

Medic chuckled to himself.

“Sorry,” Scout and Spy replied in unison.

“I don’t see why you need to be a sharing a bed with Spy, anyway,” Medic chimed in.

“He’s _cold,”_ Scout insisted.

“I would be less cold if you weren’t taking most of the blanket!”

“I’m just tryin’ to help!”

Sniper nearly threw the keyring down to the floor in frustration at his headache being exacerbated for such a moronic reason. As it was, the last key he’d tried was still lodged in the lock, so he didn’t rip it out just to throw it to the floor. But he _did_ stomp over to the occupied cot.

Spy looked vaguely amused, though tired, and Scout looked a little nervous. Sniper just sort of grabbed Scout and pushed him down next to Spy, making the Frenchman yelp in surprise. Then Sniper plucked the blanket out of their grip, pulled it into the air, and let it flutter back down serenely.

“Good night,” he said, before returning to the medicine cabinet.

“This isn’t-” Scout began in protest.

 _”Good night,”_ Sniper repeated firmly.

“Doc, c’mon,” Scout whined. He wanted to climb out of the cot but he didn’t want to trample over Spy, who was already drifting off.

Medic tutted as he unravelled a portion of white bandage. “This is what you get for angering our resident dingo,” he said.

Sniper huffed. “This comin’ from our resident-”

“Whatever you’re thinking of saying, don’t,” Medic interrupted.

Sniper laughed as he flicked through keys. “That s’posed to be a threat, nurse?”

“I will throw Soldier at you.”

“What’s he gonna do? Talk my ear off about war and battle tactics? Oh wait - he’s bloody _unconscious.”_

“Ja, but he weighs more than Herr Spy. You may find that your aging muscles would be unable to lift him off of you.”

“Bastard, you’re older than me!” Sniper cried, whipping around.

“But you’re more senile,” Medic said, smiling down at Soldier’s bleeding chest cavity.

“Okay, now _that’s_ just proper rude.”

“Can you two keep it quiet over there?” Scout asked. “Try’na sleep here.”

Sniper turned to the cot, squinting. “But you said-”

Scout pulled the blanket over his head and gave a loud snore.

“Alright then,” Sniper grumbled, returning to the keys.

He probably sounded and maybe also looked a little grouchy, but... he really wasn’t. Scout and Spy’s squabble hadn’t been pleasant for his headache, sure, but he hadn’t found it malicious. It wasn’t as if the two had been trying to antagonize him on purpose. If anything, it was kind of funny - though more so in hindsight than during the present. And Medic? Yeah, they poked fun at each other, but that was fine. They weren’t trying to insult each other. It was just one of those _things._

The whole past five to ten minutes had been one of those things. A little pocket of time that told Sniper his teammates were silly, and though his life was kind of ridiculous in a lot of ways... well maybe, just maybe, things could be okay. Things didn’t have to fit within his predetermined notion of normality to _be_ ‘normal’.

He actually felt a twinge of disappointment when he finally found the right key for the cabinet. It unlocked with a satisfying _click._

“Which bottle is it, doc?” Sniper asked.

“Hm?” Medic replied, looking up from his clipboard.

He thought there was a bit of slump to Sniper’s shoulders. Tiredness and the headache, perhaps. Or perhaps there was something more.

“The one with the note taped onto it saying, and this is a rough quote, _’do not touch, this means you, Scout’.”_

Sniper actually laughed at that, but he located the bottle with ease. He recognized Medic’s handwriting, neat-looking except for the slant to the side. Basically his notetaking handwriting, but legible.

“How many do I take?” he asked.

“There should be instructions on the back,” Medic replied absently.

“Um... you blacked out the instructions on the back with dark ink. Or maybe someone else did?”

Medic straightened, almost left his post at Soldier’s side to approach Sniper.

“Well!” he exclaimed, clearing his throat. “Yes, that was me. I believe I did that during the brief phase a few months ago when I thought the recommended dosage was a load of-” Medic cleared his throat again. “Hand it over here.”

Sniper approached the examination table. Each step closer made him a little more nervous. There were those lights above, even though only three were on thanks to the spotty cloud cover giving a small amount of light through the blinds. The big infirmary Medi Gun, looming and whatnot, was always intimidating. Just because. And Soldier, still spouting blood from his chest? That was an extremely worrying sight.

Medic’s hands flickered through the gloves as he rubbed his thumb over the bottle’s obscured label. The dark ink steamed and hissed before melting down the glove not unlike actual indelible ink might drip from its bottle.

“Is that supposed to happen?” Sniper asked.

“More or less,” Medic replied.

He wiped the ink off on a bloodstained towel he had on his... trolley, with its metal shelves. Sniper thought of it as the surgeon’s cart. He really only saw Medic take it out when he was performing surgery, and since Sniper didn’t spend a ton of time in the infirmary - the last week excepted - he didn’t see the little cart often. It did have some neat features though, like the bloodstained towel, and sharp metal instruments glinting in the light.

“This is a simple opioid, and-” Medic paused, turning to Sniper, who just shrugged at him. “This is a simple painkiller,” he mended, tossing the bottle over. “Follow the instructions on the back.”

Sniper managed to catch the bottle without fumbling it. “One every four hours,” he said.

“Sounds right,” Medic replied, pointing a scalpel towards Sniper before returning to Soldier.

“Doc, should you _need_ surgeon’s tools for this?” Sniper asked.

“Well, no,” Medic admitted. Then he grinned. “Don’t worry, Robin. I promise you he will be fine. He hasn’t been exposed to magic, so I’m _technically_ free to do what I want to find out what I’d like to know.”

 _”Technically?”_ Sniper echoed as he dropped the pill bottle into his vest pocket.

“Oh you know me,” Medic replied, waving his bloody glove a little. “I love technicalities.”

“Is this safe?” Sniper asked.

“Safer than magic,” Medic replied, pursing his lips. “Unlike with Spy,” he said, wincing a bit before continuing, “I _do_ have respawn as a failsafe.”

“So... you’re experimenting on him?”

“I wouldn’t say that...” Medic said, trailing off. He pursed his lips. “Yes, I am experimenting on him. Not for fun, I assure you. And not to spill more blood, I-” He shook his head, blushing. “I _am_ actually being productive. I’m working on a new prototype, and I can’t just bring a half-built device into battle. It would likely malfunction, and Aaron would have my head for being so foolish.

“Anyway, I have to bring his body to a type of stasis with Artemis. Ah, that is, the infirmary Medi Gun-”

“Wait, you named your Medi Gun? Also, why Artemis?”

Medic turned to Sniper, eyebrow raised. “Because of what she stands for.”

“Wouldn’t it make more sense to name it Apollo? Health god, right?” Sniper asked. He sounded unsure, but that was due to his lack of knowledge in the mythology and history department.

Medic tsked. “Artemis stands for more than archery and immortal maidenhood, or whatever it is you’re thinking. _Anyway,_ like I was saying - stasis. Then I am free to work on him with my prototype. This is, of course, under the assumption he will not die.”

“He looks like he’s already dead,” Sniper admitted.

He really didn’t want to get close enough for a good look, but he could see a lot of red. He could smell the blood, too.

“He’s not dead yet. His heart’s still beating, for starters. Want to see?”

Sniper held down a gag. “Nah, I’m good.”

He turned to the drug cabinet and locked it before picking his rifle up. Then he walked up to Medic, who was scarily focused on whatever he was doing, fiddling with the Medi Gun’s - well, Artemis’ - dials and occasionally mopping up blood.

“Hey, doc,” he said, resisting the urge to press against Medic’s back because he was a mere half-step behind.

“Hm?” Medic asked, turning.

Sniper tipped his head forward and clasped Medic’s face with both his hands before leaning in to kiss him. The gesture was cut short when Sniper’s rifle strap slid off his shoulder and caught in the crook of his elbow.

“‘M gonna put my stuff away. I’ll take a pill, too,” he said, re-adjusting the strap.

Medic nodded wordlessly. He was forced to exercise a great deal of willpower so as not to watch Sniper exit the infirmary. But then, in a flash of realization, he whipped around to face Scout on Spy’s cot. His breath let out in a relieved exhale. For once, Scout was present but asleep, if the sound of his soft snoring was indicative of his consciousness level. That was good. Medic didn’t need the runner to give him any more eyebrow wiggles from across the battlefield or whatever. Sniper could be oblivious to things, but Scout was smart enough to know that Medic wasn’t.

Thus, Medic was pretty grateful Scout hadn’t seen what just happened. He was aware that he and Sniper were obviously _something_ to Scout at this point, but he didn’t need Scout to ask for clarification. That was a ‘later’ issue. His ‘now’ issue was Soldier, and one of the prototype guns in his other room. Spy, too. But he was asleep, so, like Scout, that responsibility had been put to rest for now.

 

Sniper’s oddly content mood had fizzled out on the way to his van. That might’ve been more poetic had it been raining, but it wasn’t, so he did just feel kind of weird about it. He took a few deep breaths of the cool air, and then he unlocked the van.

Even though he wasn’t entering up front, it did still feel emptier without Medic in it. Spy too, of course. But Spy’s presence... no matter how constant it was, it rarely felt like Spy was completely there. He had a way of slipping out of sight and mind before one even noticed. Medic, though? Medic commanded attention. His visibly white uniform, his stature, his demeanour... Sniper wished Medic was with him now.

Had the doctor not been ‘experimenting’, Sniper would’ve definitely considered inviting him back to his room or the van, for a bit more privacy from Spy and Scout.

“I miss him and I just saw him,” Sniper muttered, rubbing his forehead.

His headache was shit to deal with, headaches always were shit to deal with. Sniper couldn’t even imagine what Spy was going through, what with his magic fever _and_ magic headache. That had to be a lot to deal with, even more than what Sniper was mentally complaining about now.

He wanted water; he didn’t have the patience to brew coffee. His thermos sat untouched, sitting on the counter. He hadn’t brewed himself a pot this morning, either. Or... maybe he had, and he’d just forgotten about it. Either way, it was empty, so he filled it with water.

The water was lukewarm as Sniper took a tentative sip. It would have to be enough. He unscrewed the pill bottle’s cap, shook a tablet out, and screwed the cap back on. This would have to be enough, according to the label on the back.

Sniper studied it. There was no trace of the ink Medic had magically removed from it, but for some reason, the bottle was still carrying heat. He wondered if that was from Medic and if it would do anything to him. No, he supposed Medic wouldn’t be _that_ careless, considering the discussion with Demoman a few days ago.

The pill went down fine. Sniper half-expected that he was going to choke on it or something, but he didn’t. And he was left there, standing over his counter. Feeling worried. What if the thing didn’t kick in? What if it kicked in too soon? Would it be a good idea to take another, just in case? No, no, one would have to do... It was the recommended dose, and Medic had more or less agreed with it. So it would have to be good enough. Right? Right.

All of the various anxieties from Sniper’s thoughts started to form a conglomerate of many anxious thoughts that poked and pricked at his mind. There were a lot of things he didn’t want to entertain right now. Some of them minor, some of them major, all of them bothering him.

Would it really be okay for him to take the goddamn codeine? Hadn’t Spy himself mentioned his lack of trust in Medic when it came to the drug department? Of course, Spy had also agreed with Medic that Sniper shouldn’t have caffeine... And how was Spy doing, anyway? Medic had specifically stated that Spy would end up just fine, after some rest and whatnot. He was resting _plenty_ from what Sniper could tell. Was Spy really okay? What if it just seemed like he was going to be okay but then he didn’t actually turn out to be okay? What if his condition worsened to the point he had to take a dreaded ‘sick day’? That made Sniper shudder. Would Medic even allow Spy to go off for a ‘sick day’? Of course Medic knew that the Administration would be intolerant of that. Or would he be the one to force Spy to take a ‘sick day’, even if he knew of the consequences? Spy needed to rest, after all.

Sniper took another swallow of water from his bottle and bitterly regretted that it was a non-alcoholic beverage. He wasn’t a heavy drinker. Hardly a drinker at all, really. But this was just too damn much.

And Medic. Oh, there were some real reasons as to why Medic should very well be at the forefront of Sniper’s thoughts. Not because Sniper cared about him more than his best friend, necessarily. He cared about them in different ways. It was just that his experiences with Medic over the past week or so had really, really changed how he saw the resident doctor. Drastic changes, really.

His smile didn’t put any fear in Sniper anymore, unless it was a murderous grin on the battlefield. That put fear in just about anyone, really. Sniper had grown to accept Medic for what he was - another human being, just like him. It was hard to push through that mad doctor front, to genuinely get to know the person Medic was behind it. He wasn’t always detached and clinical, he was just a professional. Sniper respected that. He wasn’t always bloodthirsty, and even when he was, he had an actual issue with blood that he couldn’t help. That, and the fact his job was to help kill nine other mercenaries on a nigh-daily basis. He wasn’t sick in the head. Actually, Sniper couldn’t confirm that from his own discoveries. But it was none of his business whatever mental hurdles Medic had to deal with.

He was still a goddamn person.

It was amazing. Sniper started to pick out the little ways his teammates treated Medic different from each other. Even though he didn’t always make conscious realizations, thinking about it now, Sniper could easily list those thoughts. Some of those little things weren’t little at all, like when they purposely avoided routine checkups. Sniper himself was very much guilty of that.

And then there was the whispering. Sniper knew Medic was above that, wasn’t fazed about his own teammates - _his own goddamn teammates_ \- gossiping about him and making up wild rumours about him. Sniper recalled how easily it came to them to warn him when Medic was in a bad mood, like dealing with Medic in a bad mood was akin to dealing with some horrible, monstrous hellbeast. In reality, Medic just had a temper and the dangerous skills that more than backed it up.

They took Medic for granted, too. He was one man handling the lives of eight others - and his own, really - in battle. That was just under eight hours a day, five days a week if not more. He filed all their medical reports, meticulously detailed, and took care of them when they were ill and injured off the field. He did so much by himself, and how often did his teammates thank him? Sure, a simple ‘thank you’ was in order on the field, but did anyone ever give him a _sincere_ thank you? Sniper sure as hell hadn’t ever bothered. He knew that it was also customary for Soldier, Demoman, and Heavy in particular to give Medic a big thanks after a charge helped a successful push win them a round. Otherwise, it was far from a stretch to call Medic underappreciated. There were other people monitoring the mercs, and probably their health, too. But Medic was the one who got most of the shit done, Sniper was sure of it.

He was reliable. Sure, he couldn’t be everywhere at once. And yet, there were those times that Sniper had called for Medic out of instinct, and Medic had inexplicably gotten close enough to heal him. Or shot him with his Crusader’s Crossbow to give him health that way. Sniper wasn’t even one of the people on the team whom Medic ‘should’ be healing. He knew he only had heal priority in particularly ludicrous situations, but he really couldn’t count on his fingers how many times Medic had saved his life in the past month alone.

He didn’t complain. Okay, he complained a little. Every single one of the mercs did. They all had plenty to gripe about, and when a bad day had passed, it was commonplace for them to exchange complaints. Medic was usually quiet during those periods. When he got ranting, though, it was a spectacle. That was unsurprising; he often had a lot more to rant about than the rest of the team on any given day, any given round.

Sniper shook his head. He felt pretty bad, knowing he definitely could’ve done better in terms of giving Medic appreciation. In a non-sexual sense, obviously. Sniper had ‘appreciated’ Medic _plenty_ in bed; that wasn’t his concern.

He knew Demoman treated Medic like a person, so it was no wonder they’d grown to be such good friends. Demo acknowledged Medic’s flaws but didn’t hold them against him like they made him an irreparable goddamn person or anything. Sniper wondered if he could do the same thing, wondered if he already had and that was the reason Medic had bothered to get close to him in the first place.

So was that why Medic cared about Sniper? Because Sniper had found the ability to treat him like a person? Maybe that was part of it, but... Sniper really did believe that there was more to it than that. Not that that wasn’t an unworthy reason by any means. He just felt that Medic saw more in him, saw potential and good things in him that Sniper could never quite see in himself.

_It’s physical._

Those words had impacted Medic far more than Sniper had thought they would. Medic appreciated his honesty, right? Probably, but... unreciprocated love was something that hurt. Sniper knew that all too well. Honesty and truth were crucial, but they didn’t take much away from the emotional distress of knowning your feelings weren’t mutual.

A sickening bout of unease crawled over Sniper and he couldn’t shake it.

His movements were methodical. He clipped the thermos of water to his belt, opposite to his blade. He dropped the pill bottle back into his pocket. His hat was on, his aviators were on, his single glove was on. He pushed out the van and headed back into base.

 

“Herr Scout, please wake up.”

“Wha-? Oh, doc, ‘s just you. What’s up?”

“I need you to help me transfer Soldier onto the gurney so I can wheel him over to the room over there.”

“The creepy room with the table? The medigun graveyard?” Scout asked. He stretched his arms, yawned, and rubbed his eyes. 

“I- ja, sure. Assistance would be appreciated. Bitte.”

“Alright lemme just, um, get outta here...”

Scout made a few attempts to get out of the bed and not interfere with Spy’s sleeping self beside him. He was doing a poor job of it.

“Oookay, hold on. I’m sure I can do this.”

Medic grumbled in German. “Reach your arms out,” he commanded.

Scout raised an eyebrow and did as told. Medic leaned in to scoop him up like a parent picking up their child. Scout had to suppress a yelp of surprise, but he did squeak a little.

“Now, take his legs,” Medic said as he strode over to the examination table.

The lights had been shut off, along with Artemis. Soldier looked even more corpselike now.

“Please don’t _ever_ tell anyone you picked me up like a li’l kid.”

“Promise,” Medic said. “Take his legs.”

There was some awkward reaching around before Scout secured his grip, but he managed. The two of them slid Soldier onto the gurney without any issue.

“Danke, Herr Scout. You may go back to napping.”

“Uhh, doc?”

“Ja, is something the matter?”

“I... I think Soldier’s dead.”

“...He’s not dead.”

“He seems pretty dead.”

Medic pinched the bridge of his nose, smudging blood on it.

“He’s almost dead. He will be dead soon. This is important for my current project.”

“Please tell me you ain’t fuckin’ his corpse, doc.”

Medic looked aghast, then disgusted, then annoyed.

“Alright, I get the point,” Scout said, raising his hands. “I think I’m gonna get a drink, that okay?”

“Yes, Scout, you may get a drink. I will be done in a few minutes and I will check on Spy after. Please try not to make a mess.”

“Yeah, yeah. Not like _one_ cup of water’s gonna make a mess I can’t clean up in a minute, anyway.”

“Just don’t use my glassware.”

Scout gave Medic a grin. “I won’t, doc. Do your weird almost-corpse stuff,” he said.

Medic nodded and wheeled the gurney into the magic room. He narrowly avoided an unfortunate collision with the doorway. It wasn’t easy going for him to wedge the gurney in, but he did manage, from what Scout could see.

Scout took a plastic cup out of the cupboard to fill with water. Then he sat back down at the foot of Spy’s bed, contemplating dinner possibilities. He was deep in thought when there was a quick double knock at the infirmary door before Sniper stepped into the room.

“Is it raining now?” he asked. “The trees look a little wet.”

“The hell’s that s’posed to frickin’ mean, Snipes?” Scout asked, confused. “You just came from your van, didn’t you? But in case you weren’t payin’ any attention, yeah, it started to rain a li’l bit ago. Woke up during my nap and noticed it started rainin’, just went back to sleep after. Actually, Medic was still pokin’ with Soldier, and we chatted even though I was still groggy. He told me about Demo workin’ on- uh, y’know. Stuff.”

Sniper shook his head and muttered some obscenities. “It’ll have to do,” he said, making for the door.

“Whoa, whoa, hold on. You mean the rain, or what? Where the hell d’you think you’re goin’?” Scout asked, getting up.

“The forest,” Sniper replied. He sounded a little sad, a little forlorn. “Bye,” he said. That sounded a lot more urgent. His eyes were wide behind the shades, not unlike a deer caught in headlights.

Scout scrambled after him. He tripped and fell, spilling onto the floor in a heap of curses worse than even Sniper’s own.

“Snipes, c’mon!” Scout cried, wincing at the fresh scrapes on his knees and elbows.

Sniper rushed out the door and shut it behind himself. Scout managed to brace himself against Spy’s cot to get up. He didn’t want to yell any more, lest he woke Spy up, and he didn’t want to chase after Sniper because he’d just re-opened a few wounds that had been shoddily patched up in respawn. He cursed some more at himself, lamenting his lack of forethought from earlier. If he’d only bandaged the wounds a little better, damn it...

Scout hobbled up to the magic room, knocking as loudly as he dared.

“Medic, doc, please,” he said, trying not to press right up against the door.

It felt like several lifetimes before Medic finally opened the door, but in reality, it had only been several heartbeats. He emerged with his regular Medi Gun.

“What is it, Scout? Why are you... standing like that?” he asked, aiming the gun over.

Scout wanted to make his explanation quick and brief. “Sniper came in kinda wonky, kinda drowsy. Made some weird comment. Then he like, panicked, and he ran out.”

“He _what?”_ Medic demanded. He was wearing an expression of pure horror, which was accentuated by the blood running past his gloves, bleeding into his white sleeves.

Scout winced. “He _ran away,_ doc. Into the forest or somethin’.”

“Doesn’t he know that the Administration will go after him if he strays too far?!”

“Yes! I think? He should know, doc. Even I know that!”

“He seemed fine before, I don’t... I don’t understand.”

“Just ‘cause things were goin’ okay doesn’t mean he’s gonna keep bein’ okay,” Scout said, tapping Medic’s arm to ground him.

“I know, but...” Medic growled. “I didn’t know. I didn’t even think this would happen... I shouldn’t have told him to leave with the painkillers, ach mein gott... What if he overdoses?!”

“He needed ‘em for his headache. Don’t beat yourself up over this, doc.”

“I know I shouldn’t. I know, I know, it’s just hard.”

Medic took a deep, shaky breath. He fixed Scout with a firm glare.

“I’m going after him,” he announced.

Scout’s eyes widened. He glanced back at the open door, and spread his arms to prevent Medic from passing him.

“You can’t!” the runner yelled.

“And why the hell not?” Medic snapped. He looked furious but also... sad. Guilty.

“Because!” Scout retorted. “You have to take care of Spy - ain’t anybody else in base who can. You told me his headache’s real bad. Demo might be workin’ on a fix, but _you’re_ the one who needs to be watchin’ Spy in case he gets worse now anyway! And plus, Demo told you he might need to call on you to help ‘im. He can’t do that if you aren’t here.”

Medic growled in frustration, trying to restrain himself from forcibly removing the Scout out of his way.

“I won’t be gone long,” the doctor insisted.

“Okay, but what if you leave, and somethin’ happens to Spy? Who’s gonna deal with it? Me? No. You want ‘im to go through _respawn_ when you keep complainin’ ‘bout how it’s not gonna help ‘im?”

Medic grabbed Scout’s arms and dragged him aside with ease. He looked very irritated, very frustrated. Scout stumbled a few steps to the side at the rough treatment.

“Doc,” he said, in a threatening tone of voice.

The Medic stalked past him, making for the entrance.

“Doc!” Scout yelled, now growing angry too.

Medic whipped around, fire blazing in his eyes.

 _”What?”_ he snarled, staring Scout down.

Scout didn’t back down. He was furious. He glared back with a power beyond that which his tough guy exterior liked to boast. Medic towered over him and Scout didn’t care.

“You have to stay here,” Scout said through gritted teeth. “You have to take care of Spy. _I_ can look for Sniper-”

“But it’s my fault he’s out there!”

“But _nothin’!_ How frickin’ selfish can you _be?_ If Spy dies on us it ain’t gonna be pretty and you know that. You’re not thinkin’ straight. We’re a team for a goddamn reason, doc. We work together the best way it works with our frickin’ situation and skills.”

“I have to, Scout,” Medic said, cracks showing in his anger to reveal hurt. A fresh layer of guilt. A hint of pain. A hint of grief.

“You have to stay here,” Scout repeated.

“Scout, I can’t stay here! I have to look for-”

Medic was cut off abruptly. His sentence was snapped as Scout’s palm landed on his cheek. Medic was hit hard enough to recoil visibly, needing to step back as he held his face with a hot hand. It stung. His cheek stung from being slapped.

“How fuckin’ selfish, huh?” Scout challenged. He looked disgusted, and understandably so.

The silence was marred by little more than heavy breathing - thick, tense breaths.

“It’s your fuckin’ job to take care of your teammates, you prick!” Scout yelled.

Medic felt a brand new wave of anger at the words, but he also felt... tears. He had nothing to say to defend himself. He knew Scout was right.

“You don’t understand,” Medic whispered, shutting his eyes tight.

“I understand plenty!” Scout exclaimed. He took a deep breath and cracked his knuckles. His voice lowered as he added, “I know you love him.”

Medic looked up at the Scout, a mix of pain, confusion, and fear in his ice blue eyes.

“Don’t look so surprised, doc,” Scout muttered. “I’ve seen and heard enough that I could use this as blackmail material. Lucky for you, I ain’t an asshole like the enemy Spy.” He looked away. “I know what it’s like to be in love.”

Medic stared down at the floor, feeling shame. He’d let his feelings get in the way of his better judgment. He knew he needed to watch and care for Spy, who wasn’t recovering as well as Medic would’ve liked him to. He knew and yet... he’d still allowed himself to get carried away because of Sniper.

“I understand, doc,” Scout sighed, studying the examination table. “You don’t wanna be without him when you could be with him. Anything bad that happens to him is ten times worse ‘cause it’s happenin’ to _him._ You feel like things’re your fault even when they aren’t.”

Medic rubbed his eyes under the glasses.

Scout’s razor-sharp tone softened. “You wanna keep him safe, don’t you? Well if you wanna help him, you can do that by takin’ care of his best friend. Right now.”

Medic nodded.

Scout took a deep breath. “I’m gonna look for Sniper, okay? You stay here. I’ll be back before you know it. I’m a Scout, after all! ‘S kinda my job to, um, scout.”

Medic rolled his eyes at that, but he appreciated the lame joke nonetheless.

“Danke, Herr Scout,” he said. He really had needed that reality check.

Scout gave a nod. He made eye contact, saw that Medic still looked sad. So he gave the man a hug.

Medic was uncomfortable at first but he managed to relax and return the embrace, feeling a few hard pats on his back.

“Good luck,” he said.

Scout chuckled. “Thanks, but I don’t need it. You know who I am?”

Medic parted from him. He had an amused smirk on his face.

“You’re Michael the Scout. And you’re good at what you do,” Medic said.

“Damn right,” Scout replied, puffing his chest out. “And you never call me that. Y’know, I told Snipes my name’s Michael. He said he was gonna call me ‘Mike’ instead, but he never really did it.”

“Hm. He really only uses the Spy’s name and the same goes the other way around,” Medic said. He remembered when Spy had asked him not to use his name. Sniper was never fond of his teammates using his name, either, but had grown used to Medic occasionally dropping it.

“Guess it’s a big deal with ‘em,” Scout said with a shrug. He grabbed the edge of the door. “Names _are_ are kind of a big deal with ‘em, right?”

“Right,” Medic agreed, his thoughts straying. “Come back soon.”

“Will do. Take care of Spy.”

Medic waved and watched as the infirmary door shut. He turned around to face Spy, still asleep on his cot, the blanket rumpled from Scout’s awkward exit. And he took a deep, shaky breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \\\ so i had this weird mental exchange with myself:
> 
>  **Q: _I’VE READ YOUR OTHER WORK DON’T YOU DARE KILL SNIPER OFF_**  
>  **A:** _It would be a shame to kill him so soon after his conscious realization that Medic is fucking great. Let’s keep him around a little longer. Five paragraphs minimum. I promise._


	20. Wand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is late but here it is. I’ve been playing a lot of Doodle or Die (a visual game of broken telephone you can play from the comfort of your own browser - no actual art skills required! plus there are different rooms with specific topics to play for, like TF2), and I have been updating Ask Tentaspy regularly, so I hope either and/or both of those things makes up for my not updating.
> 
> Also today (28/08/2015, I mean) I was watching the I55 stream, which has been super fun! If you’re into competitive TF2, or even if you just like watching people play the game, please check it out yourself! It’s from the 28-30th. Froyo has had me yelling at my friends via Skype chat over their absolute domination of this event so far. Hard not to bet on b4nny and Clockwork and Ash, y’know. //

Sniper regretted not having his bag of essentials, or at least his rifle. Both of those were idle regrets, though. He wasn’t dwelling. He didn’t want to dwell on anything, he just wanted to keep walking.

It was raining. Hadn’t Scout mentioned that already? Yes, earlier in the infirmary, before Sniper panicked... Maybe he was still panicking now. He wasn’t really sure what he was feeling or thinking, beyond the urge to keep moving forward. Even through the cold mist and raindrops.

He felt like there should’ve been a more mystical element to his walk, despite his crashing through branches and assorted foliage. Like there should’ve been a part of him that could put meaning into the weird, immense sadness he could kind of feel throbbing in his chest, choking him.

There wasn’t any deeper meaning, though.

There was just him and the trees and the grass and the rain. There was the brown of the tree trunks from branchtips to roots snaking into equally brown soil. There were the various shades of green denoting different species of grass, ferns, other plants. There was the deep, dark emerald of the pine needles. Their scent enveloped Sniper, reminding him of rosemary, heat, sparks, whispered words in an ancient, enigmatic tongue. Magical things. Medic...

“Sorry,” Sniper mumbled out loud.

The apology wasn’t for anyone in particular, but it did feel obligatory for some reason. It gave him a bit more peace than he had before, which wasn’t much, though he didn’t feel any less sad and hollow. How could he feel empty inside yet horribly depressed at the same time? He wasn’t sure, but there was no better way to articulate his own feelings than to describe it that way. Then again, feelings tended to make more sense in the abstract.

There was a clearing. Not in front of him; he was standing in the midst of it. A glance up to the sky told him so, to boot. The raindrops kissed his face, cold and unforgiving as always. Not like Medic, with his heat, he was always warm. And if Medic was there right then, what would Sniper do? Hold him. Maybe in embrace, maybe just his ungloved hand. Their lips would meet, and Sniper would feel his heart flutter. It would be a significant improvement over the dread and quiet regrets.

He did not ask himself why he ran out of the infirmary. He couldn’t help it; the outdoors was calling him. Or perhaps he was calling for the outdoors. His chest had just seized up, really. It had been difficult breathing right, and before he knew it, he’d exited base to crash through trees.

 _I want to get out,_ he thought. The realization wasn’t sudden, but Sniper hadn’t made a point of thinking too hard on that fact. _I want to get out of here. I need to get out of here. I have to breathe, I need air, I need air, I need air._

Sniper gasped loudly, coughed out some rainwater. He’d pushed through the clearing and now he was back in the embrace of the wet-barked trees.

_”Isn’t the sunset nice from here? You can almost forget how cold it is.”_

Sniper started, hearing Spy’s voice in his mind. A snatch of conversation from Coldfront, when the two had been perched somewhere up high, watching the sun dip below the glittering white horizon. He missed Spy’s presence, and it hadn’t even been that long. It was hard relying on a person for support and conversation then just having them... out of commission. Even if the situation was temporary.

A bird, a raptor, screeched somewhere off in the distance.

Sniper turned to face where the sound had come from. The hollowness was being filled up, being replaced by a sickening sort of yearning. He wanted to _get out._ He wanted to be as free as that bird of prey releasing its cry into the gloom. He wanted... he wanted... he wanted to get away. To break the shackles that bound him to his work and his current way of life.

What was it about Medic that reminded Sniper of domesticity? Medic was just so good at making many aspects of the war and mercenary life seem normal, almost. Sniper wanted things to be normal, even though they couldn’t. Even when Spy had assured him normalcy was an overrated farce, or something as grim as that.

The screech of the violin wasn’t so different from the screech of a bird. Maybe that was why Medic liked birds, was because of the violin, or the other way around, or... Sniper sighed. Maybe he justed liked playing his songs, and had an attachment to doves for a different reason.

His humming when he cooked, though. That was a little thought that had popped up in Sniper’s mind plenty of times ever since Medic had provided him with a hot meal. He made cooking in a doctor’s uniform look natural, like it was as simple as could be.

Sniper shivered, feeling the cold seep into him past his dry outfit. He raised his hands, holding his palms out in front of him, seeing them quiver as they caught raindrops.

_”To sleep with you is a privilege.”_

That hadn’t been something Medic had actual said, but for some reason, Sniper felt like it was a plausible string of words that could very much come out of his mouth. The man had certainly imparted similar messages that left Sniper red-faced, along with actions to go with those messages...

If Sniper shifted his focus off of his perpetual state of dampness, he could take himself back to Medic’s bed. Where it was dry, where it was warm, where Medic reigned, where Sniper felt... loved. Where he knew he was loved, because Medic was there, and Medic had told Sniper he loved him, and Sniper believed him, with all of his heart he believed him.

“I can’t love him,” Sniper mumbled. “He’s... I’m...”

The sky rumbled.

“I just _can’t.”_

Sniper didn’t think he was being irrational. He really didn’t think about it at all. There was a voice whispering to him, inside of him: _”Allow yourself to think about it, and you may be surprised with what you eventually discover.”_ It was Spy’s voice. Spy, who’d dispensed plenty of helpful advice and kind words in the past. Spy, who would never do him wrong, never mean to do him wrong.

“Tell me what it is that I feel, spook. Tell me, give me somethin’ to work with, ‘cause I can’t work with myself.”

Sniper ran his fingertips over a boulder, feeling grit under his skin. Bits of wet dark grey clung to him. He felt the points of pine needles rake against his face and arms, leaving water droplets in their wake. He felt leaves and shoots give way to his shoes, to his shins as he pushed past them.

He knew his current tray of issues went beyond Medic. Not that Medic wasn’t important, but how much time was Sniper willing to spend thinking about him? He thought about Medic a lot, simply because it was beyond difficult not to. Just as the doctor was an expert at commanding attention in a room or on the battlefield, he did the same whenever he happened to appear in Sniper’s tangled thoughts.

But Sniper had to think about other things, too. He had so many other things to think about, didn’t he? Like the inexplicable bouts of claustrophobia, if he could think of it as that. Or like the part of him that was dying to quit his job, no potential puns intended.

_”Every job’s got its perks and downsides.”_

That sounded like something Spy might tell him, but Sniper thought the words in Scout’s voice. He supposed it was fitting enough for Scout, too. It was true, though; Sniper had never once taken a job without both perks and downsides.

It just so happened that working with RED meant the perks and downsides were wild, all over the chart, as opposed to simple things that Sniper could easily chalk up. He couldn’t, not with this work. Some things just didn’t fit in a chart because being a RED or BLU mercenary had little logic to it. 

Sniper felt rough bark under a gloved palm as he pushed a tree branch aside. The shiver of the branchlets and needles dropped more water onto his arm, right as the sky was rumbling again.

Medic was a complex person whose traits couldn’t be listed just so he could be pinned to a chart. But despite all the unpleasant bits about him, compared to the pleasant ones, Sniper considered him a perk of the job. He didn’t want to get technical about it, but he knew it was the truth. So his feelings were muddled. At least he was sure he _liked_ Medic, and not just for his bedroom skills.

But didn’t he tell himself he wasn’t going to keep thinking about Medic, anyway?

 

Demoman was in his full magic regalia, cloak and all. His staff was leaning against the wall, but he had his wand out, spitting green sparks onto a wooden table.

He was doing his work in one of the basement’s ‘spare’ rooms that he’d personally acquired for magical purposes. He had a room designated for magic in every base’s basement, unless the basement rooms had already been taken for whatever other purpose, in which case he’d use his bedroom.

This wasn’t really _his_ room, though; it was the Administration’s. Technically, all of them were. It just so happened that the room Demoman was currently in hadn’t been taken before the mercs had arrived to Nightfall.

Demoman had furnished it with a wooden table not unlike the one Medic had in his infirmary room. There was also a wooden shelf, a few chairs, and another table - rectangular. Almost every available surface was laden with supplies. Empty glass bottles alone took up most of a shelf. Other shelves held filled bottles, containing everything from desert sand, to crushed herds, to rabbit blood, to deep red ink for arcane circles, to bonafide brews with fantastical effects.

The table had a few piles of dry ingredients in one corner. Salt, beige silt, dried basil, dried rosemary, gleaming black rocks. There was a circle carved into the table with a scraggly white knife that had later been embedded into the wood. Demoman was wiggling his fingers over the circle as it let out shafts of shimmering light.

Yes, he had his work cut out for him. A solution for Spy to get better quick? That was more than within the scope of Demoman’s magical abilities. But for the solution to be safe, considering Spy’s fragile state? That was trickier. That would require more precision and accuracy with his brew. Demoman did wish he had Medic’s assistance; his friend was a stickler for precision and accuracy. It helped Medic’s journey to becoming an expert potion-brewer. But Medic was in the infirmary, caring for Spy, possibly keeping Scout entertained, and Administration knew what else, upstairs.

Medic sure did have to deal with a lot, Demoman knew that. How the man rarely tired was confusing, especially considering how much he worked and how little he ate and slept. What the rest of the team did in comparison to Medic and his efforts? It was pretty damn unimpressive.

Demoman sprinkled some salt into a bowl. This brew would require some work to complete.

 

“Aaand that’s why I gotta go look for him now!”

Scout was hopping up and down in Pyro’s bedroom, the closed door right behind him. It was only shut because Pyro liked privacy during their conversations. At the moment, they were sitting cross-legged on their orange blanket, listening attentively. Scout had just explained, as briefly as he could, the current situation with Sniper.

 _’Remember to stay calm,’_ Pyro signed.

They wished Scout could’ve just gone after Sniper as soon as he’d left the infirmary, but they understood Scout’s desire for guidance. A bit of help. Anything.

“So... uh, do you have anything that could help?” Scout asked. “I dunno if I’m overreacting or anythin’, I just thought you should know ‘bout all this shit...”

 _’Yes, come over here,’_ Pyro signed, beckoning Scout towards them.

As soon as Scout was an arm’s length away, Pyro snapped their gloved fingers and, with a flash of orange light, produced a stick. It had smooth greyish bark that was flaking away onto the bed.

“What... what is this?” Scout asked, taking the stick.

_’A charged wand. It will keep the rain away from you, but you should wear a raincoat in case it runs out of energy.’_

“That’s actually kinda cool! But do you have anything that’ll help me find him?”

Pyro tapped their mask thoughtfully. They reached into the collar of their suit to pull a necklace out. It was braided metal with assorted colourful beads looped through it.

“Whoa, is this some kinda magical necklace?”

Pyro shrugged. They knew it wasn’t magical at all; it was just a necklace. But maybe it could give Scout some courage or something.

_’Think of it as a lucky charm.’_

“Alright,” Scout said, pulling it on. “Thanks for everything! Remember to tell Demo, alright? I’ll see ya later!”

Pyro waved him goodbye, hoping with all their being that he could locate Sniper. They had faith in Scout, though. They knew Scout was capable of many things, no matter the teasing from the rest of their teammates that suggested otherwise. If Scout couldn’t do this, nobody could.

Demoman had bottled several potions, but most of them were untouchable. They could be used as a base for later projects, but he didn’t have the time to refine them now. He had to keep working and measuring and-

“Come in, Pyro,” he called.

The knocking at the door had been faint but audible even through the earbuds playing music. At any rate, Demo didn’t mind company. But he knew Pyro didn’t just drop in for visits when he was working; they always had a reason to come down to the basement. Frivolous visits weren’t Pyro’s thing. Demoman tucked his earbuds away as Pyro entered and shut the door behind themself.

“What’s ailin’ ya?” Demoman asked.

Pyro pulled a chair up to the long table. They tapped their finger against the wood. Some long strings of tapping and pauses formed words, then sentences. They explained the situation with Sniper, and how Scout had gone after him.

Demoman didn’t reply immediately. He crumbled some basil in tiny piles on the table, pushed some into the wood grain and carvings. The circles and symbols lit up green with a burst of light, and little green sparks flew into the scraps of the herb.

“I think he can do it,” he said. “I dunnae think we should tell the Administration unless they aren’t back by later tonight. I know that means they might both get lost, but whatever the Administration will do to ‘em, we dunnae need to find out.”

Pyro nodded.

“Did you want to go with ‘im?”

Pyro nodded again, a little forlorn.

“Aye, I understand. It’s a good thing you didn’t. The team would be confused if three of us were absent, don’tcha think?”

Pyro nodded yet again; they had to agree that that was true.

“Medic’s in the infirmary, hopefully still breathin’ okay. Spy’s in there, too. Sniper and Scout are somewhere in the forest, I’m down here... Maybe you should check on the others, make sure they aren’ae worryin’ and they’re still makin’ dinner. You can come back in a bit, help me make sure I’m doin’ the right thing here, aye?”

Pyro hopped off the chair, mumbled a ‘goodbye’, and left. They were dutiful about their task, and Demoman admired that.

 

Why the hell was it so cold? Okay, the rain probably accounted for that, but still. Scout was shivering, even though he’d only been out for about five minutes. He had a jacket on, then a raincoat on top of that, but he was still shaking underneath. He was regretting not having brought a spare coat for Sniper, but his backpack could only carry so much. At the moment, it contained ammo - his Scattergun and Pistol were holstered at his belt, snacks, a bottle of water, spare bandages, a rudimentary First Aid kit...

“Isn’t there anythin’ I can _use_ in there?” Scout grumbled as he tried to remember the bag’s contents.

He probably had a fresh pair of socks, and a change of underwear. Maybe a book, maybe a pencil? To sum it all up, nothing that would help him now, lurking the forest in the rain.

Scout was growing impatient with the trees. It seemed that every single branch low enough on the trunk that it could touch him did touch him, whacking him across the face right after he pushed another branch out of his way. That was kind of bullshit, even for a forest full of trees and tree branches.

“These needles freakin’ hurt... How the hell does Sniper do this?”

Scout wasn’t really paying as much attention as he probably should’ve been. He was a decent tracker, but the rain washed most of the traces of Sniper away. Besides, Sniper had always been a better tracker, but Scout couldn’t exactly grab Sniper to help track himself down. He had to make do with his own skillset, which was hardly a skillset at all.

Scout looked back, trying to memorize from which way he’d come. If he got lost in the forest too, then he wasn’t sure what would happen next. Trouble, probably. For him and for Sniper, which would suck. Immensely.

“Holy shit, are those footprints?” Scout asked out loud, crouching down to inspect the ground.

It was a portion that a large boulder had protected from the brunt of the rain, so maybe those really were recent Sniper prints. Fortunately, they looked very much like the prints Sniper’s shoes would make. Unfortunately, they pointed right into a muddy clearing where, from that point, Sniper could’ve gone in any direction.

Scout wasn’t eager to walk in, but he _did_ have Pyro’s weird magic stick thing that had been keeping him dry so far. He held it with an iron grip even though the outer layer was flaking off onto his hand wraps and fingers. The tip glowed a pleasant light scarlet colour, pushing through the gloom of the weather. True to Pyro’s words - or signs - the wand did repel the rain. Scout was completely dry. As helpful as that was, the cold still persisted.

Scout peered at the ground, wondering if the grass blades had been trampled by feet or passing animals or the rain. It was hard to tell; the ground was muddier than he’d been expecting. He retreated to the edge of the clearing to walk around it.

“Maybe I’ll pick up the trail again,” he mused.

The leaves all looked the same. It was just more of the same bushes, the same plants, the same trees. The gradual up and down of the ground, sloping every so often. The occasional boulder and bunch of rocks. He bent down to inspect a crushed cluster of ferns and wondered if he’d already passed it.

“I’ll find him sooner or later. I will,” he insisted, nodding to himself.

Scout wondered how Medic was doing, considering how he’d left the doctor in the infirmary after a slap then a hug. That could’ve turned out worse, but everything also could’ve turned out better, all possibilities considered.

It was likely that Scout was faring better than Medic at this point.

He knew the doctor could get worried about... issues. Not very often, but it did happen. Telling him that Sniper had run away was definitely the kind of issue that set him off. Scout knew that there was a plethora of other crap that Medic could care less about, but he also understood why this particular problem couldn’t be brushed off. As easy as it was for Medic to shove needles and sharp surgical instruments into a person for fun, when he was confronted with consequence was when he proved himself to have a conscience. Like right now, with Sniper off in the forest somewhere. Because Medic had thought it was his fault.

Scout didn’t get that.

He _did_ understand a few things, pieced together from the little Medic had explained to him plus what he’d witnessed himself. Medic liked Sniper - Sniper liked him back. Medic had pulled some weird magic shit on Sniper’s head and it hadn’t been good for him, and the side effects weren’t pretty. Side effects seemed to include becoming a runaway. Then there was that whole riot with Pyro trying to inquire as gently as possible as to whether or not Medic and Sniper had had sex. The answer to that had been a no, from what Scout could recall.

He and Pyro had hung out a little after that, but Scout had pondered that instance plenty after it occurred. He’d be hard-pressed not to, really. Thinking about his teammates, well, Scout supposed he did that enough. He lived and worked with them, after all. He didn’t make an effort into digging very deep, though; Spy had shoved him against a wall and bled him for deigning to poke into his room without asking first, back in the Badlands.

Scout chuckled nervously, pushing a damp branch away from his face. That memory, though it was from almost a year ago, was still fresh in his mind. For some reason, he linked it to Medic and Sniper. Maybe it was because that had been from when Scout didn’t know anything about Spy, and Scout realized... he didn’t know anything about Medic.

Like most of his teammates, there was a part of him that held genuine fear for their resident mad doctor. Not a single one of them had ever, over the course of the war, been spared from an unorthodox experiment of some sort. Medic had done some pretty terrible things to all of them, leaving scars from ‘accidental’ organ removals. Scout frowned because he was _pretty_ sure that Medic still had his left kidney.

That didn’t matter, though. He really didn’t _know_ Medic. Nobody did, with the possible exception of Demoman. They just saw Medic as that creepy fuck who managed to keep them alive longer in battle. He was a real team player, sometimes their unofficial leader, and also kept them healthy off the field. Yeah, but that was all in his job, wasn’t it? Scout thought back to earlier, to his attempt at patching himself up. That hadn’t gone so well. Medic probably could’ve done a better job. Would’ve.

Scout hissed as needles dragged against his face. He batted them away, shaking his head free of the droplets that tried to cling to him.

“Shit, is that another footstep?”

He crouched down to inspect the dirt. That was definitely a footprint, not unlike the ones he’d found earlier. Scout huffed, amazed at how fortunate he was to somehow be able to track Sniper through the goddamn forest. He knew that Sniper probably wasn’t the type to trample on plants and things intentionally, but people had a tendency to upset foliage even if they made a very clear attempt not to. It seemed Sniper hadn’t bothered being careful this time; there were several patches of crushed bushes that Scout was lucky enough to spot and follow.

So was that it? Sniper was a careful person - current situation excepted? Medic was careful, too. Maybe he liked that. Maybe Sniper was careful with _him._ Scout wasn’t sure if that actually made any sense or not, but it didn’t have to; love didn’t make a lot of sense.

_”The magic buildup in his head is my fault, Herr Scout. Sniper has been... unstable, in ways before, but I’ve made it worse. That is why Demoman isn’t cooking tonight, because I need him to help me with this problem before it’s out of our control.”_

There was blame to be placed on Medic in the face of other problems, but Medic was very good at taking blame in stride, floating right over consequences without a care. He couldn’t shake that now. Scout had seen the guilt in his eyes, heard the pain in his voice. It had taken a literal wake-up slap to the face to get him even remotely rational again. Of course he was upset when Sniper ran... He felt he had to take blame in relation to the matter, plus he _loved Sniper._ He very, very obviously held a deep care for Sniper.

Scout really hoped he could find him. He didn’t spend a lot of time in the forest, never really needed to. It wasn’t bad to get some fresh air, or to try running in difficult terrain, he just preferred staying in base with the others. In base, he could indulge himself in poker games, lots of beer, and assorted conversation. It felt like... home. He thought of it as home.

The forest’s clutches did not give him any sense of comfort. He was just cold and miserable. Determined, but miserable all the same. It wasn’t the best place to walk around in during rainfall.

Scout stopped at a boulder to take his bag off, from where he managed to retrieve a bag of barbeque-flavoured chips and shove the wand thing into a belt loop. He didn’t mind healthy snacks, and loved to bring an apple or whatever to battle for lunch, but he preferred to keep non-perishables in his bag. Once, he’d tossed a tub of blueberries in there, but had forgotten about it. By the time he’d rediscovered the container, he’d been horrified to see that it no longer contained what any reasonable person could call food.

The chips were okay. He had the bag tilted so the rain didn’t get his snack soggy, and he tried to eat as loudly as possible. Maybe Sniper would hear him, with that scary good hearing of his that almost rivalled Medic’s.

Maybe he’d come find Scout himself, so Scout didn’t have to find him. That would certainly make things a lot easier. Scout wasn’t sure how much longer he’d be able to keep up his tracking streak, because the rain was getting worse even through the tree cover. And it was getting darker. Scout would have to turn back pretty soon; he wasn’t carrying any light source. Wait...

He looked down at the wand in his belt loop. It was still repelling the rain, and glowing orange, so maybe it would work as a light source. Also, it was shedding white flakes onto his pants, but Scout needed to toss them into laundry later anyway. The only worry he had about the wand was that Pyro had warned him about it losing its charge, or energy, or something. If that happened, would the light go out? Probably; that seemed logical enough, but Scout himself couldn’t say for sure. Hopefully it would remain bright until he made his way back to base, with Sniper in tow. Also, hopefully its exterior would stop flaking off.

Scout almost walked right into a tree, staring at the glow. He sidestepped it, and almost walked right past another bunch of footprints. Scout had a pretty decent sense of direction, and he was sure that Sniper’s route gradually took him further and further from base. Scout frowned even with his mouth full because he had no choice but to follow the steps.

 

Demoman had wrapped his cloak around himself so as to conceal the glass bottles of colourful, bright fluids clipped to his belt. He didn’t want any of his nosy teammates - bless their hearts nonetheless - to question him. The last thing he needed was to be accosted. He was usually up for a drink and a chat, but not now.

He could hear some clamour from the living room as soon as he was in earshot. Judging by the scraps of conversation, a few of the others were playing poker or a similar card game that involved gambling. Maybe even a random board game that they’d somehow turned into a gambling or drinking game; the REDs didn’t play games any other way. Spicing things up was obligatory, and Demoman knew that. He’d invented a few interesting twists to games himself.

But he walked past as he made his beeline to the medical wing. He pushed the door open, and looked around.

Spy was still on his cot, which had grown to be a disconcertingly familiar sight over the past few days. Medic was at his table, but he wasn’t sitting on his chair; he was standing beside it, fiddling with his violin and rosin.

“Good evenin’, doc,” Demoman greeted, nodding.

“Hello, Aodhán,” Medic replied, in that quiet voice of his that he had whenever he grew a little despondent. He inhaled, composing himself before looking up. “What have you brought him?”

“A treatment with a few stages. I have the first one here,” Demoman said, pulling his cloak aside to reveal his array of bottles.

“Very nice. What do I have to do?” Medic asked, setting his violin back down onto its velvet throne.

“Jus’ stand aside. I’ll handle this first one. I want you to save your energy, because I can’t have you passin’ out later,” Demoman said.

Medic looked like he wanted to protest, to offer help, but he shut his mouth before any words came out. After what appeared to be quite the bout of mental deliberation, he gave a terse nod towards Spy’s cot.

Demoman removed a round bottle from his belt. It was capped with a scrap of wax paper, tied to the neck and spout of the bottle with simple brown twine. Demoman wiggled his fingers, taking hold of the twine. After a moment of glowing green, the twine loosened itself enough for Demo to pull it off, along with the paper. The paper automatically wrapped itself around the neck, followed by the twine.

He approached Spy while mumbling a quiet prayer of sorts, in what might’ve been a primordial language of the ancient mages, or gibberish.

“This should help the pain, Spy,” he said, holding the bottle in a hand.

Medic inched closer, out of both curiousity and the obligation to keep Spy safe. Of course, he trusted Demoman and his skills. He just... wanted to be there.

Demoman tipped the bottle over. A dark red, brick-coloured powder filled his palm. He raised his hand and sprinkled it over Spy. As the powder fell, it glittered in the light. Before long, there was a thin layer covering Spy like snow blanketed a landscape overnight.

“Will this interfere with his breathing?”

“Nah, it won’t,” Demoman said. He blew the remains of the dust clean off of his palm.

With another quiet mumble of words, Demoman held his hands out, palms facing down. Green light poured out from the tiny crevices in his skin, attracted to the reddish powder and filling each grain with light. When they stopped glowing, Demoman wiped his hands off on his tunic and turned to Medic.

“I’ll be back later, keep an eye on him. If he wakes up, give him some water,” he instructed.

“What about the powder?” Medic asked.

Demoman smiled, his eye flashing lime green as he did so. “The dust will settle,” he said. “You’ve just got to wait.”

Medic nodded, a little perplexed, but he supposed that was all he needed to hear. He didn’t want to impeded his friend’s progress any more.

“See you,” he said, before returning to his violin and filling the air with the piney scent of the rosin.

Demoman gave a nod in reply before he left.

 

“Shit, am I lost yet? Okay, magic stick, I finished the bag of chips, so now you gotta help me out.”

Scout had patted his hands clean on his shirt, before rubbing them again a tree for some water. He’d then proceeded to wipe them on his pants, which had a little bit of barbeque flavoured residue on them.

The stick in Scout’s hand didn’t respond, but it did continue flaking. His hand wraps were covered in a fine layer of greyish bark flakes. He twirled the stick, which didn’t do much more than throw a few more flakes out. For a magical item, the stick really wasn’t much help. Then Scout remembered the necklace around his neck, nestled amongst the chain for the dogtags.

Scout tugged at it, inspecting the braided metal. It was awful pretty for a necklace, and Scout knew what a pretty necklace looked like; he’d seen his mother’s jewelry box. But the beads looped on, those were a bit garish. Then again, he knew Pyro loved colourful things. They probably liked looking at the beads.

“But what magic does this thing do?” Scout mused, rubbing his thumb against a purple bead.

He touched all of the beads, but none of them glowed, nor sparked, nor showed him the path he needed to take in the forest that would magically lead him to Sniper. What had Pyro said about the necklace? Something along the lines of how it’d be like his lucky charm? Scout supposed he was lucky enough. He’d followed Sniper’s trail pretty far, even though it hadn’t been the easiest trail to follow, what with the rain and all.

He was still feeling the beads between his fingers when he noticed the signs of a scuffle in the dirt. Maybe an animal had passed by? He certainly couldn’t pick out any footprints there. Just up ahead, what was that? More trampled bushes, a few snapped twigs. Very suspicious. He groaned. What if one of the forest’s inhabitants had passed by Sniper’s trail and just so happened to mess it up?

Scout got to a knee for a closer look. He felt the wand hum in his hands, which was actually kind of cool. It didn’t _do_ anything, though it gave him a bit of courage.

Until he saw the blood.

His stomach dropped, and the sudden pang, the desire to throw up, hit him full-force. Damn it, he would hold onto those barbeque chips. There weren’t any more in the pantry until his next shopping trip; they would not be wasted now at the sight of a little blood.

Could it be from Sniper? Scout really hoped that wasn’t the case. For some reason, he hadn’t even anticipated the possibility of Sniper somehow, inexplicably getting himself injured... He was just so capable in terms of wilderness survival. Oh god, what if some hungry animal pounced him? Would Scout have to drag dying Sniper back to an already-stressed Medic? Would respawn catch him first? That wouldn’t be _too_ unfortunate, actually... Scout supposed killing Sniper off would be better than dragging him back.

He shook his head. This was negative thinking; he had to actually go and find out what happened instead of jumping to ridiculous conclusions.

“Sniper?” he called tentatively, for the first time in his search. “Sniper, you around here?”

Had Scout been any slower, he might’ve been hit by the knife that whizzed out from what seemed like nowhere. Thankfully, he was pretty fast, and ducked. The knife embedded itself into the tree behind him, wedged firmly in the bark. Scout’s eyes widened. He took it out, noting the scratches on the blade and hilt, the crude markings at the very base of the metal. Just a touch of blood from smudged fingerprints.

“The hell?” Scout muttered, now more indignant and confused than scared. “Sniper, you fuckin’ bastard! Fuckin’ get the fuck out here! Stop throwin’ shit at me from wherever the fuck you are, don’t be a fuckin’ coward, fuckin’ Christ! You injured or what?” he yelled. “You think I came all this fuckin’ way for you to try an’ friendly me with this shit?!”

His chest heaved as he took in uneven breaths.

There was a rustle in the trees. Branches shook and water fell from them, not hitting Scout with the wand still firm in his grip. After some more rustling that shifted around a bit, the dark form dropping down in front of Scout startled him backwards.

“Sniper?” he asked, gawking.

“Who else?” Sniper asked, straightening and rising to his full height.

Scout's gaze flicked down to Sniper's forearm, then to the other. Both were bleeding. He exhaled. “How long you been here?” he asked.

“Dunno,” Sniper replied. “A while, I guess. Didn’t take you long to find me, did it?”

“I guess not, ‘s not even that dark yet.”

“What are you holding?” Sniper asked, cocking his head.

Scout blinked. He held the wand up, glowing orange.

“Py gave it to me, keeps the rain away. You can take it ‘cause you look kinda cold.”

“You keep it, I’ll be fine.”

Scout raised an eyebrow. He could literally see Sniper shivering, even hear it a little amidst the rumbles of his voice. He took Sniper’s hand, placed the wand in his palm, and closed his bloodstained fingers around it. He gave them a pat for good measure. Then he remembered the First Aid kit in his bag, so he took it off to toss the kit over.

“Let’s go,” Scout said, turning around.

“That’s the wrong way, mate,” Sniper said, catching the kit and almost dropping the wand in the process.

He felt the dampness in his clothes fade away. He was pretty much soaking, up in the trees, but just holding the wand made the wetness go away. It didn't do anything to ease the pain or flow of blood on his arms, but at least being dry was better than being dripping wet in cold.

“How d’you know?” Scout demanded. “You’ve been holed up in a tree this whole time.”

Sniper gave a faint smirk. “I know my way around here, even this far in.”

“I don’t trust you not to get us lost,” Scout snapped. “You’re the one who ran off and injured your arms, so I’m not gonna trust you on this one. Sorry, Snipes.”

"This is just from some branches scrapin' me. Didn't have my kukri to help me."

"We're goin' _my_ way," Scout snapped. His voice softened. “Y’know, he’s waitin’ for you.”

At that, Sniper perked up. Just a bit. Just enough for Scout to notice, even if he wasn’t facing Sniper. But he was listening, and he could hear that hint of hope, of happiness in his voice.

“Y’mean Medic?”

Scout grinned to himself. He didn’t know what it was between Sniper and Medic that made them keep their relationship - whatever that relationship was - a secret. But maybe it was the reservations, the doubts, when either one of them felt unsure about themselves. Scout didn’t need to see the two kiss to know they cared about each other, and to know that this wasn’t some one-sided, unrequited pining.

He could hear, in those couple of words coming from Sniper, so soft in the forest, with the rain and the deep green surroundings, the calm... He could hear the feelings that Sniper held and he knew that he didn’t need to ask any more questions, or make any more mental guesses as to what was happening between Sniper and Medic.

So he let himself grin as he pushed branches aside with Sniper’s knife. He let himself poke a little fun at his teammate.

“I meant Spy, but the doc’s waitin’ for you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \\\ I don’t know anything about which ingredients one should use for magic so don’t expect what I put down to be accurate in any way whatsoever.
> 
> EDIT; i was gonna LINK SHIT FOR THIS CHAPTER ........ okay here we go: [let's start off with a classic](http://ubercharge.co.vu/post/127905835336/bisexual-legislature-this-is-so-gay-quite), [sweet very cute](http://ubercharge.co.vu/post/127498501101/manifestplastic-i-dunno-i-just-needed-some-bush), [some weenie cuz im chatting with her](http://ubercharge.co.vu/post/127406169451/weenie-kun-lil-break-escape-time), [another good](http://ubercharge.co.vu/post/127250392256/sogekihei-sama-so-i-made-another-lame-bush), [oh YES](http://ubercharge.co.vu/post/127250139736/manifestplastic-drawn-some-time-ago-just-added), [a lil racier for the folks in the back ;)](http://ubercharge.co.vu/post/126526019746/weenie-kun-its-s-7amagain-my-time-is-on) , [this is also important](http://ubercharge.co.vu/post/126453064226/jannelle-o-here-you-go-i-hope-you-like), aaaand to end it all off? [w e l l](http://ubercharge.co.vu/post/127902716066/je-suis-le-petit-lapin-j-weenie-kun-i-feel)


	21. Touch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Note the tag additions.**
> 
> (You’re welcome.) //

“How many ‘stages’ has it been? What are we at?”

“This is seven, doc. Hold on.”

“Festhalten... festhalten, was?” Medic muttered, rubbing his temples but getting up from his chair anyway.

Medic was getting a headache. He was exhausted, and he could tell that Demoman was growing tired, too. Casting a lot of magic, even if it wasn’t all at once, was mentally and physically taxing. It had to be worse for his friend; Demo was also using magic to cook the different brews. All Medic had to do was make sure Spy didn’t die while Demoman was downstairs, mixing.

“What now?” Medic asked, sticking his hand out to receive a bottle or Demo’s wand or whatever it was he needed to hold onto for stage seven.

“We’ve already taken care of the different layers of... problems he had. This stage is to seal the magic. After this, I’ll need to go back down for a different mix, and we’ll have to seal him again. We dunnae want this magic to be loosened.”

“Alright, I understand,” Medic said.

Demoman pushed a portion of his cloak away to take his staff out. Medic always found the sight of that staff to be comforting, but now he was just tired. It was perpetually glowing, filled to the brim with potential. Sparking green. The paw structure at the top, where most of the carvings of symbols were concentrated, looked very realistic. Medic liked to run his fingers over it when Demoman had him hold it. Now was not the time for that; the two had to work.

“How do you need me?” Medic asked.

Demoman peered at Spy, who was still asleep. Blissfully unaware of the lengths his teammates were going to, just to make him better again. With some luck, the hard work would pay off.

“I jus’ need your power. I can do this step myself, but it’d be safer for us to mix our magic anyway.”

“Ah, yes. Our styles function differently, after all.”

“Exactly,” Demoman said with a nod. “Put your hand over the staff.”

Medic’s hands were already bare - his gloves were on the table, along with his neatly-folded coat. He held his hand over the wooden paw, feeling the tingle of magic beneath his palm.

Demoman closed his eyes. As soon as the hushed incantations left his lips, Medic felt his remaining energy flow out of him. His vision blurred, but he saw a glittering wave of lime green magic, shot through with red, spiralling through the air and directly into Spy’s torso.

“Hang on,” Demoman said.

Medic couldn’t even bring himself to mumble a reply. His eyelids fluttered as he watched the last of the green and red disappear from the air, or perhaps just his vision. The staff’s light dimmed and steadied until it was back to an ambient sort of faint green glow. Medic felt the ghost of claws scrape against his palm, but he knew nothing was there and it was just one of the staff’s peculiarities.

“You can let go now, doc,” Demoman said.

It required a great deal of effort for Medic to retreat his hand. As soon as he did it, he collapsed. He was expecting the floor’s cold embrace, but instead landed in a pair of strong arms. The clatter of wood hitting the floor in lieu of him was distant and fuzzy.

“You did a good job, lad, but it’s time for you to rest.”

Demoman set his friend down in the cot next to Spy’s, and pulled the blanket over him. He was ready for a nap himself, but he knew he had one more seal to perform. He knew Medic was glad that the process was as safe as possible, even if he was passing out. Demo picked his staff up from the floor, smiling at his friend before exiting the infirmary.

Medic wasn’t sure why, but there was something in the scent of the blanket that made him cling to it harder. He gave a faint smile.

 

By the time Scout returned to the infirmary - with Sniper in tow, Demoman had completed his job and was passed out on the living room couch behind the poker party. Spy was still asleep, and likely would be all night. Medic was at a level of unconsciousness that rivalled Spy’s but didn’t quite pass it; he’d expended almost all of his energy.

Sniper felt a dull ache all over his body along with a sharper and more acute pain in his bleeding forearms. As soon as he caught sight of Medic on the cot, his breath stalled. Scout shook his head, muttering some obscenities as he ran over to the sink to wet a towel. Sniper set the wand down onto Medic’s table.

“Snipes, c’mon, you should bandage your arms or somethin’.”

“Yeah,” Sniper said, even though he was already hovering over Medic’s sleeping form.

“Snipes,” Scout prompted, wringing the towel.

Sniper didn’t want his arm blood to get on the sheets, so he joined Scout at the sink. The runner cleaned his wounds in quiet.

“When’d you get so responsible?”

Scout gave a snort. “Ever since I spent most of my free time in here,” he replied. “Picked up a couple of things, like bein’ responsible.”

“Well I ‘ppreciate it, even if you are still an annoying little ankle-biter.”

“Don’t make me beat you up.”

Sniper grinned in amusement. “I’d like to see you try,” he said.

“Nah, it’d upset those two over there,” Scout said, nodding in the direction of the cots at the windows. “You know that.”

“Yeah, guess it would,” Sniper said.

Scout opened a cupboard to produce a fresh roll of bandages, not unlike the ones he used in his own hand wraps. He used them to patch Sniper up.

“Y’see, now _this_ is somethin’ I can do almost as good as Medic,” he said, beaming at his handiwork. “They okay?” Scout asked, tearing the end of the strip with his hands before working on the other arm.

Sniper held his arm out to inspect it. “This’ll do,” he said.

Scout finished with the other wrap and put the roll back into the cupboard. In the few seconds it took him to do that and turn around to Sniper again, he saw the man approaching Medic’s cot. But then he stopped.

“Just go for it,” Scout said. “I promise I won’t watch, I should prob’ly check on Spy, anyway, ‘cause the doc’s out.”

Sniper didn’t need to be told twice. He took a seat at the very edge of Medic’s bed so as not to disturb him.

“‘M sorry,” he whispered. “Didn’t mean to give you a scare. I know that you know I go for walks, but whatever Scout relayed to you about this time I went out...”

Sniper gave a nervous chuckle, scratching the back of his head and setting his hat onto the windowsill. He wanted to save the words for later. For now, he just buried his nose into the crook of Medic’s neck, inhaling his familiar scent. It flooded him with emotion.

“Doc, I want you to know-”

Sniper was started as he felt Medic shifting beneath him. He pulled back.

“Ich liebe dich,” Medic murmured.

“Medic?”

“...Sniper? Is that you?”

“Uh, yeah,” Sniper said, ready to get off of the cot.

As he roused himself from the clutches of sleep, Medic found energy. He could literally feel the replenished magic in him invigorating him. It felt good. Being near Sniper felt good. He lifted his hands, pressing his palms to Sniper’s face and pulling him in for a kiss.

Sniper parted to say, “Y’know Scout’s behind us.”

“I don’t care, Robin, I don’t care,” Medic replied, shaking his head a little before kissing him again.

“What did you say when you were waking up?” Sniper asked, stroking Medic’s jawline with his thumb.

“Did I say something?”

“Um, ‘s nothin’ you haven’t said before. Don’t think you’ve told me what it means, though. It’s - don’t laugh at my pronunciation here, I don’t speak German and it’s proper hard gettin’ the words right - ick... fuck. Uh-”

“Ich liebe dich,” Medic said, trailing a hand down to Sniper’s waist to guide him onto the cot.

“Yeah. That.”

“It means ‘I love you’.”

“...Oh. Guess I should’a known. Hey! Don’t put your hand on my-”

Medic had a smirk on his face and he raised an eyebrow.

“-That is... Scout’s behind us, alright? This isn’t the time for... that.”

“But you smell good. And there’s blood on you.”

“My arms are wrapped up, doc!”

“Mm, still...”

“Not now, okay? Maybe later, but I’m tired.”

“That’s fine. Herr Scout?”

Scout hopped off of Spy’s cot, startling the pair beside him.

“‘Sup?” he asked.

“I appreciate your assistance. You are now dismissed,” Medic said as his fingers ran through Sniper’s hair.

“Uhh...”

Sniper was still positioned on top of Medic, and he might’ve gotten off of him had Medic’s other hand not been pressed to his side.

“Yeeeah, I guess I’ll check on you guys later. Bye!”

Scout darted out without another word, and Sniper exhaled.

“Come _here,”_ Medic murmured.

“I’m already here.”

“Closer.”

“I’d crush you.”

“You would most definitely not.”

“Let’s go to your room, at least. Feels weird bein’ on top of you in Spy’s presence.”

“Fair enough.”

Medic practically threw Sniper off of him by grabbing his waist and shoving him to the side. Sniper almost missed the floor, but managed to land on his feet. He was a little indignant, though he didn’t hesitate to help Medic up. As soon as Medic took his hand, Sniper pulled him off the bed and led him to his room.

“Your hands are always warmer when you get riled up.”

“Does that not make sense?” Medic asked, shutting the door behind himself.

“It does.”

“Besides,” Medic continued, locking the door. “Did I not tell you that you turn me on?”

He took a step closer to Sniper, grabbing his vest. He tilted his head up to kiss him again.

“You did,” Sniper replied, voice low.

“You must be tired,” Medic said, taking his boots off.

“I am. Sleep with me?” Sniper asked, kicking his shoes off, too.

“Of course.”

Before long, their clothes were loosened, glasses were set on the table, and they were tangled in each other’s limbs, lying on their sides and facing each other. It was only a little past sunset, but neither of them were going to protest a nap after what they’d both been through.

Sniper held Medic close with one hand, held his hand in the other. Medic mumbled soft German, pleased.

“Sleep well,” Sniper said.

“For you, anything.”

 

The air was warm and cool at the same time. A breeze floated by, acting as a gentle tailwind for Sniper as he entered the forest. He could feel the wind at his back even in the shelter of the trees. The needles were swaying, the bushes were thick and leafy, plants brushed against his legs and even up to his thighs, his fingertips.

The sun-dappled forest was green, verdant in the thick of springtime’s beauty.

Sniper reached out, feeling cool leaves and silky petals against his palms as he walked, and walked.

He followed the sound of a familiar violin refrain. The melody was interspersed with birdsong, dipping in and out of the notes.

It grew louder until he emerged in a clearing, lush with thick green grass and fragrant wildflowers. In the middle, basking in the sunlight, was Medic playing his precious violin. He wore a crown of flowers with stems knotted together.

“Doc?” Sniper asked, still lingering at the edge of the clearing.

Medic’s bow hovered in midair for a moment before he set it down, along with the violin. He looked up and, upon sighting the Sniper, he smiled.

“Robin. Come join me,” he said, patting the grass beside him.

Joy flared inside of Sniper at the invitation, but doubt was quick to replace it.

“This isn’t right,” he said, though he wasn’t sure why he said it.

“What do you mean?” Medic asked. He reached into his velvet-lined violin case to produce a second crown of flowers. “I’ve been waiting for you, so aren’t you going to come and sit?”

“I-” Sniper began. He winced. “I... can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Uhm-”

“Sniper,” Medic said, in that chiding tone of his. “I know you think this dream is too good to be true. But this isn’t real life, now is it? There is no shame in allowing yourself even a small amount of happiness.”

“This is a dream,” Sniper said, the realization hitting him.

“Yes,” Medic confirmed. “Now that you are aware, you’re free to do what you like to change it.”

“I... really can’t think of a single thing to change about this. I wish it was really happening, but I can’t make that happen.”

“Of course you can. You know you can. Not right now, though; you’re still asleep so unless you wake up, you’ll be here. So while you’re still here, come and keep me company. I’ll be there when you wake up, but I’m also here, right now.”

Sniper stepped into the clearing, feeling warmth wash over him. He took a seat beside Medic in the grass, and Medic placed the flower crown on his head before kissing him lightly.

“Ich liebe dich,” Medic said.

“I-I know.”

“You know how you feel, don’t you? Why can’t you tell me?”

“I don’t know how I feel, doc.”

“You do. I know you do, and you know you do. You just have to accept it.”

“I can’t.”

“You need to tell me, Sniper. My real self, that is. I would more than like to hear the truth. Although I am perfectly content just being around you, sleeping with you, spending time with you... Well, you must understand how it feels to love, unrequited.”

“...Yeah. I do understand,” Sniper replied, lying down.

Medic snuggled into his side. “Will you talk to me?” he asked.

“There’s a part of me that wants this to be real, doc. There’s a part of me that wants to stay in this field forever, ‘til I draw my last breath, right here by your side... But life isn’t that generous - not to me, not to anyone. Ever.”

Sniper took a deep, deep breath.

“There’s no fairy tale ending for mercenaries like us. We’ve done too much wrong in our lives, there’s no place for us but Hell. And I don’t know why, but I feel like spendin’ time with you before I die for real... Well, I’d like that. I’d really like that. I hope you’d like that, too, ‘cause you make a lot of this bullshit worth living through.”

“Robin,” Medic pressed, gently.

“No, I-”

“Robin...”

“Just lemme stay here a li’l while longer. Please?”

Medic nodded, and took Sniper’s hand in his own. Always warm.

“Alright, Robin. For you, anything.”

“But it’s not gonna be that simple, is it?” Sniper whispered. He shut his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them again, he was blanketed in deep blue night.

Medic was gone, but his violin was sitting on top of its closed case. The bow was moving across the strings on its own accord, releasing a melancholy song that made Sniper’s heart hurt.

He sighed, clutching at the indent in the grass next to him. The field was cold, the air was cold, he was growing cold. Torn petals littered his surroundings. Sniper turned onto his back, and took in the sight of the stars above.

They were strikingly beautiful.

 

“Ach, mein gott, Robin!”

Sniper had jerked to alertness, his eyes flying open. His arms and legs were tangled in the blanket, and Medic was at his side, looking and sounding alarmed.

“What’s the matter? Did you have a nightmare?” Medic asked, taking the blanket from Sniper’s grip to straighten it out.

“I-I don’t know...” Sniper admitted, shaking his head.

Snatches of his dream were still floating in his head, and he could remember some decent-sized chunks of it but not enough. He didn’t have enough of the pieces to finish the puzzle, yet he could still hear that mournful violin tune. He could feel an emptiness, a sadness, a coldness. But now, he could feel warmth. Right beside him. Medic was hugging him.

“It’s alright, it’s alright,” he mumbled. “You’re safe.”

At that, Sniper felt his eyes sting.

_You’re safe._

He wasn’t sure why, but those words were infinitely reassuring. He knew his dreams hadn’t been of battle; he didn’t get as many war-related dreams nowadays. Not nearly as many as Spy and the others. But to be told he was safe? Maybe Sniper could’ve taken that as if Medic was being patronizing. He didn’t. He hugged Medic back, holding him tight until he felt that he could let go.

“Thanks,” he said.

“I’m here for you.”

“I really appreciate it, but do you think you can let me go? I, uh, need to take a piss.”

“Oh, sorry,” Medic said, releasing Sniper and letting him climb out of bed.

When Sniper was back, he rejoined Medic.

“How long’ve we been asleep?” he asked.

Medic glanced at the clock. “It’s a quarter past three in the morning, so quite a few hours.”

“Have _you_ actually been sleeping?”

“Ja, I have. It took me a while to fall asleep, but I was almost as tired as you were.”

“Good to hear,” Sniper said, pecking Medic’s cheek. He sighed. “‘S gonna take me a bit to fall asleep again.”

“Me too.”

After a respectful pause, Sniper pressed his lips to Medic’s again, and his hands worked at dress shirt buttons.

“Mmn, Robin, it’s late...”

“Even better. Nobody’s gonna bug you. I dunno about you, but I’m feelin’ a lot more rested.”

Medic allowed his lips to be parted, and felt Sniper’s tongue press against his own.

“Wait,” he gasped, pushing Sniper back enough so he could take a breath. “I’m thinking...”

Sniper raised an eyebrow, quipped, “When are you not?”

“Bastard. Here.”

Medic groped at his right until he felt the edge of his bedside table. He pulled the top drawer open and produced a small bottle.

“What is it?” Sniper asked, curious because he couldn’t exactly see in the dark without the special glasses.

Medic closed his eyes, summoned forth some energy, and illuminated his palms with success. They glowed a dim red, enough for him to show Sniper the bottle.

“You planning on druggin’ me, mate?”

“No! No, it’s not a potion, it’s, ah, well... You know.”

“Whatd’you mean I know? I don’t rummage through your things when you aren’t in here, doc.”

“You’ve stolen one of my papers.”

“Alright, except for that.”

“Sniper. It’s lubricant.”

Sniper’s eyes widened and his face flushed.

“Oh. Oh. Alright. I see. I mean, uh, I don’t really _see,_ but I get it. Do you...? Right now? With me?”

At the latter question, Medic actually laughed a little.

“With whom did you think I would’ve used this, if not yourself?”

“Dunno, yourself?”

“That... kind of _is_ why I keep it here, actually.”

“Alright. Then, um, let’s do it.”

Medic smiled, gave Sniper a long kiss.

“You don’t have to if you’re tired or if you don’t feel like it, you know. You’ve... been through a lot today.”

Sniper shook his head a little.

“I want to. You don’t know how bad I want to.”

Medic pressed his hand to Sniper’s inner thigh and slid it up until he felt the tip of his boner.

“I think I have a feeling,” he purred, tugging at the waistband.

Sniper huffed, and took his boxers off before helping Medic with the rest of his clothes.

“I ever tell you that you’re bloody gorgeous?” Sniper asked, trailing kisses down Medic’s chest.

“You have, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like hearing it...”

“In that case, let me remind you: you’re bloody gorgeous,” Sniper said, planting a kiss on Medic’s belly and making him giggle a bit.

“Ticklish,” Medic warned. “Remember that. Don’t tickle me, alright?”

Sniper smiled, but he could be compliant to his partner’s wishes. He was slow in pulling Medic’s briefs off.

“Hard already?” he teased.

“You say that like you aren’t,” was Medic’s counter.

“Fair enough,” Sniper said.

He took Medic’s length in his hand and kissed the head for good measure. 

“You don’t have to do this...” Medic began, setting the bottle down on the table so he didn’t shatter it in his own tightly-fisted grip.

“You know I _do_ enjoy goin’ down on you?”

“Perhaps, but you will be able to service me in other ways, mein liebeling.”

“And I will. But I want you to be warmed up first,” Sniper said, giving Medic’s hard-on a few pumps.

“I’m always warm,” Medic grumbled.

He felt Sniper’s lips close around the head of his cock and he gasped, clutching the sheets in each hand.

“Ohh, Sniper...”

Sniper pulled back, chuckled, and licked his lips.

“You like bein’ teased?”

“No. You’re horrible. Hurry up and fuck me already.”

Sniped tsked, holding Medic’s legs down with his hands.

“You gotta learn patience.”

“I’m not a Sniper like you,” Medic replied, resisting the urge to buck his hips up.

“Yeah you are, with that damn Crossbow. Nailed my arse from across mid point once.”

Medic laughed. “Let’s not discuss that here.”

“You’re right. We’ve got more important things to worry about.”

Sniper took hold of Medic’s hips with one hand and cupped his balls with the other.

“Hold still and I’ll warm you up.”

“Like I said, Sniper, I’m always warm...”

Sniper sucked on the head of Medic’s cock, making him whine. He knew he didn’t need to tease much longer, so he dove right into the blowjob, head bobbing, working his tongue. That certainly elicited more delicious noises from the doctor.

“Stop!” Medic cried, already sweating. “Stop, mein gott, stop, slow down. You’re too good at this.”

“Hasn’t even been that long,” Sniper replied as he obliged.

“I know, but like I said, you’re good at this... Just... take the bottle,” Medic said, handing Sniper the lubricant.

Sniper took it, screwed the cap off. He rubbed the top, feeling the liquid between his thumb and forefinger.

“Do you know how to use it?” Medic asked.

“Yeah. ‘S not the first time I’ve done this, even if I’m no expert.”

“Alright, I suppose that’s good. You don’t have to make a point of being gentle, but if you aren’t, I may end up kicking you or injuring you some other way.”

“I’m already injured, remember?” Sniper asked, holding a bandaged arm up.

Medic couldn’t help salivating a little at the thought of all the blood that had to be under the bandages. He would’ve liked to see, but the glow from his hands wasn’t bright enough to show much.

“Don’t undo my arm wraps, but you can bite my neck all you want,” Sniper said.

Medic growled hungrily. Sniper could’ve sworn his eyes flashed with something carnal, a deep kind of desire and need.

“That’s what I like to hear, love.”

Sniper lubricated a finger with care not to spill too much onto the sheets, even though he knew they’d be dirtied sooner or later. He used a little more than he thought he probably needed to start out with, but that didn’t really matter.

“Relaxed?” Sniper asked.

Medic’s hands flickered red light against the blanket he was holding onto, but Sniper managed to catch his nod. He went ahead and pressed his wet fingertip to Medic’s entrance, rubbing in a circular motion.

“It’s been awhile,” Medic admitted. “I mean, for myself... with someone else. Not for over a year.”

“‘S alright. Me too, actually,” Sniper said, adding more lubricant. “Should we be using a condom?”

“We’re both _clean,_ if that’s what you’re worrying about.”

“Figured it might be easier to clean up after.”

“The sheets are washable, Robin.”

“I think they’d stain, though...”

“It will be fine. This is not the first time I - _we’ve_ \- made a mess of them.”

“If you say so, they’re your sheets.”

Medic nodded again. He bit his lip, feeling Sniper push his finger in. It was agonizing how slow he was going, but Medic supposed that was better than painful. Not that he actually _minded_ pain...

Sniper leaned over to suck at the head of Medic’s cock again as he slicked a second finger and worked it in. Medic didn’t say anything more, but he moaned in approval. He could feel Sniper’s fingers inside of him, scissoring, testing him. The underside of his cock was being given a tongue bath at the same time and all the sensations mixing together was sinful.

“Sniper,” Medic whispered.

Sniper released Medic’s cock from the confines of his mouth. “Yeah?” he asked.

“T-take your bandages off...”

“You sure about that?”

“Please, I- if it’s alright with you.”

“‘S not a lot of pain, the worst of it healed, so yeah. I can do that if you want me to.”

“Are they still bleeding?”

“A little, I think,” Sniper said, tugging at the bandage with his teeth because he had the bottle in one hand and the fingers on his other hand were occupied.

Sniper undid the bandages on his left arm, and spat them out. Medic grabbed it and tossed it to the floor. He could already smell the blood and the scent was making him whimper. With the other bandages, Sniper was having some trouble. He loosened the end with a hard tug, but jerked his fingers a little as he did so, making Medic yelp in surprise as they curled inside of him.

Sniper spat the bandages out before apologizing, “Sorry about that, mate.”

“It-it’s alright,” Medic said, taking the strip and tossing it aside.

Sniper could feel the sting of his wounds, fresh but not particularly in his way. Medic reached his hands forward, pressing his fingertips to Sniper’s forearms. He drew a hand back, dipping a finger onto his tongue and shivering in delight.

“Like that?” Sniper asked, adding a third finger.

“This makes me want to ravage you. Be glad that I am on the receiving end this time.”

“Wouldn’t mind it either way,” Sniper said, pushing his fingers in as far as he could reach.

“Sniper, that’s- _fick!”_

“So I _can_ reach your prostate.”

Medic stammered a weak, unintelligible string of words in German, feeling the stab of pleasure ebb from his senses. The press of Sniper’s fingertips inside of him was maddening, and he felt some relief when they retreated.

Sniper was on his knees on the bed. He poured a generous amount of lubricant onto his palm and slicked it over his own throbbing erection.

“Think you’re ready?” he asked.

“Yes. Bitte,” Medic said, the taste of blood still echoing on his tongue.

Sniper positioned himself over Medic’s entrance and pushed in slowly.

“Mm _mffuck,_ I don’t think _I_ was ready,” he growled.

“That’s just th-the head, Sniper, keep going...”

Sniper kept going, inching his way in because he didn’t want to hurt Medic even if they were both experienced enough so any worries were minimal.

“You can hilt me, just keep going,” Medic said, panting.

Sniper’s fingers dug into Medic’s hip, but as Medic said, he was able to fit himself inside completely.

“Spread your legs a little further,” Sniper said, holding himself in place so Medic could adjust.

Medic nodded, and did as told. He reached his hands forward again, keeping them around Sniper’s forearms though in a loose grip. He wanted to taste more of that blood.

“Smells good,” he murmured.

“What, the blood?” Sniper asked, taking hold of Medic’s hips.

“Well yes, but so do you.”

Medic shivered, adjusting to the feel of Sniper’s length inside of him. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, considering how many times he’d taken it in his mouth. He didn’t think it’d be so much, but girth wasn’t the same up his ass than in his mouth. The pain was briefer than he would’ve liked, though he was glad to be able to focus on Sniper’s intoxicating scent. And the blood on his palm, which he brought up to his face so he could taste it.

“Talk to me, doc,” Sniper said, his voice a low growl of arousal as he leaned over his partner.

Medic brought his hand up to Sniper’s cheek to guide his face down a little. Sniper hummed in approval, deep in his throat, feeling Medic’s tongue slide over his lip before pushing into his mouth.

“You taste _very_ good,” Medic said, bringing his hand back onto Sniper’s arm.

“S’pose that’s for the better,” Sniper said, feeling his forearms sting from both Medic’s touch and from the movement of his muscles as he pulled Medic up onto his lap a little.

“Impress me, Sniper,” Medic said with a languid smile and eyes half-lidded, hazy with lust.

Sniper growled softly, pulling back, relishing the feel of Medic encompassing his length. He’d fantasized about this, but the little details escaped his thoughts when he was simply trying to masturbate. His imagination had nothing on the real thing, couldn’t make his cock throb the way it was now, begging him to ravage his partner on the bed in front of him. Beautiful...

He slammed it in again, and Medic moaned in a manner that was absolutely filthy. His palms flared with light, one against the sheets, one against Sniper’s arm.

Sniper’s nails were clipped short, but he still managed to dig them into Medic’s hip to find purchase as he thrust in again. Medic wasn’t fragile, and Sniper didn’t have to be gentle with him if he didn’t feel like it. He really didn’t; his pace was merciless as he got into it.

The sound of flesh slapping hard against flesh was loud in the air, asynchronous with the moans and panting and gasps of encouragement.

“You are bloody _tight_ for somebody who isn’t a virgin.”

“I don’t spend a-all my spare time - _fuck_ \- getting myself off.”

Sniper needed a breather, even for a moment. He shoved himself inside with a hard thrust and stopped suddenly enough for Medic to be a little surprised as Sniper gasped, feeling Medic clench around him.

“You’re really hot,” Sniper said, reaching for the bottle on the table and dripping more lubricant down.

“I heat up when I do this. Mostly my hands, but...”

“It’s fine, it actually feels really good,” Sniper said with a smile, setting the bottle back onto the table.

He continued, slow at first but speeding up without any hesitation or warning. Medic could feel the spots on his hips that he knew would be bruised by tomorrow morning. He bucked his hips up so Sniper would clutch harder, whimpering a little at the pain.

“Eager?” Sniper teased.

“Yes. I’ve wanted you to do this to me for a while now, I’ve wanted to feel you...”

Sniper could feel Medic’s palm retreat from his arm. The glow of red was entrancing as Medic brought his hand up to his mouth to suck on his digits. There wasn’t a lot of it, but the fact that he could taste it, and it was Sniper’s, and Sniper was fucking him made it exponentially more pleasurable than any other circumstance that could set Medic off.

Sniper removed one of his hands to Medic’s hip and brought it over to his cock, hard and leaking pre-cum already. He took it in his hand, pumping more or less in time with his thrusting. He could feel more pre drip down onto his fingers. All the better when Medic gave another very loud, dirty moan.

“I ever mention that I love your noises?”

“Several times...”

Sniper chuckled, kind of wanted to wipe the sweat from his brow but didn’t want to let go of Medic’s hard-on because he liked the weight of it in his hand, hot against his skin the same way all of Medic was. Especially the parts that Sniper was in contact with.

Medic could feel the rush of saliva in his mouth as he indulged himself with another taste of Sniper’s blood. He felt Sniper smack his ass and he cried out, startled but even more turned on than before, if that was even possible.

“Is this how you like it?” Sniper asked, gasping as he kept up his merciless pace.

“I enjoy several positions, this is just one of them.”

“Want to try anything else while we’re still at it?”

“Take me from behind.”

Sniper gave Medic’s ass another slap before slowing down and stopping. He pulled out, lubricant and his own pre-cum still trailing from the tip of his cock to Medic’s entrance. Medic turned over onto his side before Sniper leaned over him to nibble on his ear. His wet erection grazed against Medic’s thigh as he switched his position.

“Gotta say, you lookin’ submissive is a bloody gorgeous sight.”

“I’m glad you enjoy it.”

“I’m enjoying a lot of things about you,” Sniper said, mounting his partner. “The sight’s just one of ‘em.”

Medic gripped his sheets tightly, and turned his head. He couldn’t see Sniper very well in the dark, but he liked the sight, too.

“Ready?” Sniper asked, taking hold of his length and pressing it to Medic’s entrance again.

Medic bit his lip. “Yes. Fuck me, bitte,” he replied, turning back to face the wall.

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Sniper growled, pushing in.

He felt a lot less resistance thanks to the extra lubricant and Medic already being primed, ready to go. But there was the ferocious heat, and although Sniper had fucked people in the ass before, and felt Medic’s inner, magical fire, he really wasn’t expecting it to be so strong. Normally, Sniper might’ve been at least a little worried about his more sensitive parts, but he was lost in the pleasure of it. The heat with the wet friction...

Medic cried out again, loud. He had no idea where Sniper found the energy to be fucking at the speed he was, much less to be able to fuck _harder,_ to boot. His cheek was pressed to the pillow, and he felt teeth at the side of his neck, nipping him. A hot tongue tasting him. Sniper’s chest was pressed to his back.

“You have any idea how bad I’ve wanted to do this to you?” Sniper asked, in that painfully arousing dirty-talk voice that Medic loved to hear.

“I can _feel_ it,” Medic replied weakly, both because he could feel Sniper’s cock moving in and out of his ass and because he could’ve sworn he also felt the low rumble of his voice when he spoke.

“Good,” Sniper said, giving Medic’s neck a hard bite before continuing. “I want you to feel how much I want you, how bloody glad I am to be fucking you right now. You feel so bloody good, you don’t know the extent of the things you do to me... You’re a proper beaut, doc. Haven’t ever bedded somebody as graceful in bed as you are, y’know? I’m a lucky bloke to have you, ready to cum onto my palm when I feel like lettin’ you.”

Medic’s heart skipped a beat, and he was about to piece together a response when he felt Sniper slam in again, hard, and he was forced against his pillow. A needy whine escaped his throat.

“Mm, want to say that again...? I swear, if you keep that up, gasping like you’re dyin’ to be fucked, I might actually fuck you hard enough for it to _hurt.”_

Medic gasped, desperate. “Yes,” he managed to say, though even the single syllable was high-pitched, strained. “I want you to do me hard enough for it to hurt.”

Sniper growled, pleased, making Medic whine as a sign of utter submission. He was quiet - spare the harsh grunts louder than Medic’s gasps - for a bit before he felt like continuing.

The command was firm and had Medic been able to stroke himself, he might’ve came right then.

“Beg for me.”

He couldn’t; not right away. He was perpetually trying to catch his breath, and was only able to do that because Sniper slowed down. For a second, Medic was just processing thoughts. He was floored that Sniper was growing to be so dominant in bed, to this extent. But he was thrilled. It felt delicious to be spoken to in such a way.

“Bitte...” Medic began, breathless but absolutely _needing_ to follow through with what Sniper told him to do. “Fuck me hard, as hard as you can. I want it to hurt me, I want you to take me so hard it hurts, I want to be sore tomorrow to the point I can’t even walk. I want you, I need you, please fuck me, Sniper. It feels so good, you feel so good I can’t handle it, I’m all yours... Do with me what you wish.”

Medic bit his lip, feeling heat flare within him, feeling the head of Sniper’s cock resting inside of him but no more than just the head. He wanted more. He needed more. He was craving Sniper, and he loved it.

“You want to be fucked ‘til you can’t walk in the morning?” Sniper asked, his voice deadly quiet.

Medic swallowed hard. He could feel himself quivering keeping himself up but also because he was excited.

“Yes,” he breathed.

As soon as that word left his mouth, he felt Sniper force himself in again. Medic yelled, pleaded in German for him to keep going, to go faster. He felt one of the hands holding his thighs against Sniper dance up from his abdominals - he giggled for a second, couldn’t help it - to his chest, to his neck, until it rested at the side of his face. A finger pushed into the corner of Medic’s mouth, followed by a second. They were both wet with blood and as soon as Medic tasted it, he bit down hard enough to hold them in place.

Sniper chuckled behind him, and it made the light in Medic’s palms glow brighter again. It was getting to the point that they were illuminating the room - albeit dimly - with red light, even when they were pressed to the sheets.

They were also burning - Sniper couldn’t tell if the heat pouring out was just coming from Medic, or if it was just because they were having sex and their collective body heat was ramping the temperature up.

“Sniper,” Medic said, sounding desperate.

Sniper growled beside his neck in response.

“Make me yours.”

There was an electrifying pause.

“I’m gonna-” was all the warning Medic got as Sniper approached his climax.

He came with gritted teeth and a feral snarl tearing out of his throat against his will. His fingers clenched, digging into Medic’s bruised hips in an unforgiving grip. Medic sank his teeth into his pillow, feeling Sniper fill him up. He didn’t expect Sniper’s hand to go to his cock and stroke hard, purposefully.

There was a moment in which Medic hadn’t anticipated the sudden flood of pleasure that the gesture brought him; his eyes flew open in surprise. Before he knew it, he was moaning, bucking his hips to achieve more blessed friction against his hard-on.

Then there was a symphonic eternity - the way that moments of the late night and early morning felt eternal, for a precious pocket of time - when every fibre in Medic’s body with lit up with pleasure. Every nerve, every synapse of his very being. He rode out his orgasm with a surprising amount of elegance even in just the curve of his spine and the curl of his toes.

Hot, sticky strands of white shot out of his cock and landed on the rumpled bed sheets beneath it.

With that, extreme exhaustion flooded over Medic, and he collapsed onto his side. Sniper’s cock slid out of him, still dripping wet with lubricant and cum.

“Towel,” Medic groaned, taking deep breaths.

Sniper grunted in response, but he was capable of dragging himself out of the bed to grab the grey towel in Medic’s closet. Thankfully, it wasn’t too far away. He tossed it over to his partner before flopping back down onto the bed.

They barely managed to get themselves cleaned up before passing out again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \\\ Yes I know I used the phrase ‘symphonic eternity’, which I googled. [This is what I found.](https://www.facebook.com/symphonic.eternity)
> 
> Anyway, my questionable word choices aside, how ‘bout [that new TF2 comic?](http://www.teamfortress.com/tf05_old_wounds/) [This pic of Spy](https://41.media.tumblr.com/a7c5ea3658da7db419fdd62db2fdb06e/tumblr_inline_ntywkl6J4a1rqbrui_540.png) is going to be my cause of death. I want you guys to ensure that it’s printed on my tombstone.


	22. Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a little late. i've been distracted by undertale.
> 
> fanart dump to make up for it: [this picture is crucial please look at it. ](http://ubercharge.co.vu/post/128212031976/mistdeer-bestieeees)[here’s something nsfw for the crowd wanking in the back.](http://safeworddopamine.tumblr.com/post/128230230702/sogekihei-sama-well-back-to-the-porn-heres) [some demo, who is important.](http://ubercharge.co.vu/post/128596905841/ukop15-two-little-pyro) [some demo _and_ pyro](http://ubercharge.co.vu/post/128373692481/a-bloody-fruit-shop-owner-kawaii-as-fuck) [‘cause they’re both important.](http://ubercharge.co.vu/post/129174371806/jannelle-o) [ween drew this and it’s so fucking good.](http://ubercharge.co.vu/post/128494043471/weenie-kun-l) //

An alarm rang loud, waking Sniper up. Instinctively, he groped at the air to turn it off. His hand clutched at blanket and more blanket. With an annoyed grunt, he opened his eyes. It took him a second to take in his surroundings. Right. He wasn’t in his van, he’d slept with Medic after literally sleeping with him.

“Guten morgen, Herr Sniper.”

“Mornin’,” Sniper grumbled, rubbing his eyes.

Medic had poked his head into his room. He was already dressed, and looked ready to tackle the day. He stepped in to turn his alarm off.

“Why d’you have an alarm set if you wake up before it goes off?” Sniper asked, sitting up.

“Just in case,” Medic replied, releasing the device.

Sniper looped an arm around his waist to pull him closer. Now that he was waking up, he was starting to remember the events of last night. Not even last night, really; they’d transpired no more than a few hours ago.

Medic allowed himself to be pulled in, and bent over to give Sniper a kiss.

He parted and whispered, “Go brush your teeth.”

Sniper’s face reddened, but he rolled his eyes in what might’ve been indignation or an attempt to brush off the embarrassment.

“I’d have to go back to my van, then.”

Medic shook his head, and gestured loosely to the door. The infirmary was bright outside; the blinds had been opened.

“I have spare toothbrushes in the bathroom, check the cabinet.”

“Long as you don’t mind,” Sniper replied, getting up and stretching.

“Of course I don’t. I rather like your presence,” Medic said.

He smiled bashfully, which prompted Sniper to give him another kiss. On the cheek this time.

“I need a shower,” he said, reaching for his clothes on the floor.

“You can shower in here, if you’d like?”

“Prob’ly will after I grab some clothes. Anything we’ve tossed on the floor is dirty enough.”

Medic laughed. “You’re free to take my robe back to your van if you don’t want to put your dirty laundry back on.”

“Nah, some bloke’s gonna see me and see the cross emblem on the front. Next thing you know, he’s askin’ questions or spreadin’ rumours. Rather like not bein’ talked about.”

Medic gave a nod. He understood, of course he did; he kept his affairs and the state of his life private, too. With the exception of his conversations with Demoman, and sometimes with Spy, he kept to himself, too. But now he was keeping to himself and Sniper, which wasn’t so bad...

 

If there was ever a nice day to battle, it would have to be one with good weather. On Nightfall, such days didn’t come often enough. But there were exceptions.

Sniper tipped the brim of his slouch hat up, squinting at the sunlight. The air was cool, but at least the sun was out in a sky not smothered in clouds.

“You shouldn’t do that, or you’ll blind yourself.”

Sniper turned to Spy, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, spook... I’m wearin’ my shades.”

Spy snorted, said, “Oui, you look ridiculous as ever, bushman.”

Scout hopped in and clapped the two on their shoulders, wide buck-toothed grin on his face.

“Let’s have a great battle, guys. We’re gonna win Nightfall.”

“How do you know that?”

The three turned to see Medic standing there, pointing his gun at them for overhealing. Sniper took the opportunity to remove Scout’s gunpowder and strawberry-scented hand from him.

Scout shrugged. “I just do,” he replied. “Like, I know shit.”

“Is that optimism or sheer idiocy?” Spy challenged. He received a punch in the arm for his comment.

Scout shrugged. “Trust me, man,” he said, fixing Spy with a look.

“Aye, boyo. It’s not that we don’t trust you,” Demoman said, rubbing Scout’s hat and making his headset go crooked.

“Then what is it?” Scout asked, crossing his arms.

“Sometimes you talk out of your arse,” Sniper answered, to which Demo nodded.

“Oh, c’mon guys,” Scout grumbled, indignant.

The group laughed. Even Medic.

“We’re jus’ teasin’ you,” Demoman said. “You didn’ae have to get all pouty.”

Scout frowned, and that just made everyone else laugh even harder. When Spy started his snorting fit, Scout laughed, too.

Demo shot a wink to Pyro at the cart, by Heavy and Engineer’s side. Sniper caught it, and found it oddly reassuring. It helped to calm the stormy waves in his gut.

“Okay, let’s get to our places!” Scout managed to say.

Everyone dispersed. Medic buffed Sniper and Spy, gave Sniper’s arm a quick squeeze, and returned to the cart to pocket Soldier. Solder was barking commands to Engie, and accidentally yelled out his ‘thanks!’ Scout, who’d perched on top of the payload, cringed. Demo guffawed. Pyro cocked their head, questioning. Heavy just raised his eyebrows.

_“Mission begins in thirty seconds.”_

“Are you ready?” Sniper asked.

Spy suppressed a laugh, gloved hand at his mouth. His blueish eyes sparkled with amusement he couldn’t conceal, not to his best friend.

“Aren’t we always, Robin?”

Sniper peered at him, before relenting and giving a contented, toothy smile.

“Yeah,” he said, clutching his Tribalman’s Shiv at his belt. “We are.”

 

Pyro and Demoman were watching the sunset on the roof. Heavy was present as he’d been avoiding Scout’s plea for a poker rematch, but he’d fallen asleep after listening to about an hour of magic babble and signing and performance.

The sky was almost clear. A few clouds drifted by, lazy as ever when they weren’t threatening rain or even a drizzle. Streaks of orange overlapped with streaks of yellow, of red, pink, purple. The glow of the sun dipping down was nice against its bright backdrop.

“Up for another round of magic charades?” Demoman asked, leaning back against the door to the roof.

Pyro was sitting cross-legged and fidgeting with a carved branch. Another candidate for a wand, perhaps. Their head was tipped up to the sky as they imprinted the colours above into their mind’s eye. In response to Demo, they lifted a gloved pointer finger to summon a trail of orange light, sparking like fire.

 _‘Not right now,’_ they wrote, using the flames to construct a gorgeous, swirling cursive script.

“I can’t read that against the sky,” Demoman said, giving a snort.

The bright oranges and yellows were akin to fire, after all.

Pyro clapped their gloved hands together once, dispelling the flames before they tried again, this time in white-coloured fire.

 _‘Not right now,’_ they repeated. _‘I think it’d be nice to rest for a while.’_

Their magic writing was barely legible, though Demo had learned to read it fine. The loops were large and graceful, though the text slanted down in the air before fading away with a farewell of fine white glitter. Pyro’s magic was nothing short of beautiful, was what Demo thought.

He agreed, though. Sometimes the sunset was best enjoyed in sober peace, and he could deal with that just fine. He was tempted to wake Heavy up to watch it with him too, but Heavy didn’t have a tendency to enjoy being woken up.

“Want to bring the others out here?” Demoman asked, yawning.

Pyro turned to face Demo, then they turned to the slumbering Heavy.

“Never mind,” Demo said, chuckling. “Let ‘im rest.”

 

Scout had been passed out at the foot of Spy’s bed by the time Medic swung back around to the infirmary. He’d taken a bit of dinner, not eager to invoke the possibility of Sniper or Demoman’s nagging, and had it with him as he’d told the others he was going to check on his patient. They could not tell him otherwise, wouldn’t have been able to convince him regardless.

“Sleepy?” he asked, flicking the lights on before approaching Spy’s cot.

Scout didn’t respond, but he stirred.

Medic took a seat because if Scout was present and had yet to flag him down with loud shouts and cries for help, he didn’t have to worry about the state of Spy. A quick glance told him Spy was still alive. That helped. At the very least, it meant Medic could go ahead and eat his dinner.

It was beef stew, which was probably the best kind of stew. Except to Scout. Medic assumed that Scout had slipped away from dinner because he wasn’t fond of beef stew and nobody really got how he could dislike beef stew when it was the best kind of stew and Scout ate beef otherwise, so it made literally no sense as to why he wouldn’t like-

“Ain’t sleepy, doc, just restin’.”

“Was? Oh. You looked like you were asleep,” Medic said, raising an eyebrow.

Scout gave a sheepish kind of laugh. “I mean, I was asleep and I’ve been asleep for a li’l while. I’m just teasin’ you,” he said.

Medic took another spoonful of beef stew and rolled his eyes.

“Didn’t think you’d mind at this point, ‘cause... I ain’t _really_ in the way, am I?” Scout asked, rubbing the back of his neck. “Told you I’d be back, right? ‘Least I think I did... Can’t really remember ‘cause I just had a nap and all so uh, I’ll be honest - I don’t remember much from last night, hah. Anyway, I figured it’d be okay if I was just checkin’ on Spy.”

Medic nodded slowly. His fingers tingled with the memory of exponential magic expenditure. Yes, _he_ would not, could not forget about what had happened. It had required a great deal of effort and he’d passed out afterwards. That alone marked it a significant event.

“How is he?” Medic asked when his mouth wasn’t full.

“Not as tired as before, but still pretty tired. I mean, he was up for a little while and he was glowing white and it was kind of scary ‘cause I thought he was a ghost or somethin’ and that wasn’t fun. He took his leather gloves off and his hands were glowing white too and he was all, ‘it’s okay, it’s just magic being expelled’ or somethin’. Then we played checkers but he moved the pieces with magic and it was annoying ‘cause he kept beatin’ me! And I was like, ‘you cheatin’ or what?’ and he just gave me this mysterious smile like when he knows somethin’ you don’t, you know the one. I swear he was readin’ my mind or some shit - hey, you okay please don’t spit out your stew - ‘cause he looked like he could predict my every move before I even made it and that sucked a lot, and-”

“I get it,” Medic said, pinching the bridge of his nose and nudging his glasses up. “You don’t have to give me all the details.”

Scout reddened, and was about to apologize or at least speak when he was interrupted again.

“There are some rather _entertaining_ details, docteur.”

“That does not mean I wish to hear them all,” Medic grumbled, returning to his stew.

Spy was sitting up on his cot. It didn’t look like an easy task for him to sit up, but Scout nearly tripped over his own feet to assist.

“I will be fine, Scout,” Spy said in a placating voice.

Scout nodded and sat back down at the foot of the cot, rubbing his arm.

“I trust you are feeling better now?” Medic asked.

“Oui. I appreciate the help,” Spy said. Then he frowned. “I think my hands are still glowing,” he added.

“Show me,” Medic said, raising an eyebrow.

Spy removed a kid leather glove and turned his palm to Medic. It was glowing a faint white, but not to a point where Medic would be worried about it. He’d done magical assessments on all his teammates - not just Sniper. He thought Spy was pretty lucky to be tough in the face of magic, able to absorb it with minimal repercussions most of the time. That was good and, despite all that had occurred thus far, likely meant he’d recover just fine from this point on.

“Is this normal?” Spy asked. He put his glove back on.

“I don’t know about normal, but I feel that you will be fine. You needn’t worry about it.”

Spy gave a slow nod, resting his hands over his abdomen. Scout’s gaze flitted back and forth from Medic, to Spy, to the infirmary, and back again to Medic.

“It will fade,” Medic promised. “I can’t say how soon, but in all likelihood, you will be back to normal within the next few days. A week at the very latest.”

“Does it do anything?” Scout asked.

Medic shook his head, though he looked a bit pensive.

“It’s a visual side effect of his body expelling magic. As a light bulb will also give off heat, this process gives off light as its extra product. Luckily, the light should take little of your energy, Herr Spy.”

“What a relief.”

“Yes, it is,” Medic agreed. “Would you like me to fetch you dinner?”

“You are eating. Make Scout do it.”

“I ain’t your pack mule, Frenchie,” Scout muttered.

“Scout, I am eating. Go get Spy some beef stew because it’s the best stew.”

Scout’s nose wrinkled in distaste.

“It really isn’t,” he said.

“It is, though,” Spy said.

Medic gave a nod of approval.

“Okay, fine, but you two are still pricks,” Scout said, hopping off the cot.

“It’s the best stew, Scout,” Spy said.

“I don’t understand how you don’t like beef stew,” Medic called before he had the chance to slip out.

Scout gave a shrug. “Long story,” he said.

Spy grinned. “I can tell you all about it,” he whispered to Medic.

“Don’t you dare!” Scout yelled.

He glared at Spy before exiting and slamming the door shut, leaving Medic and Spy in stitches.

“Oh, that’s hilarious. He has a _story_ about why he doesn’t like beef stew?” Medic asked, smiling.

Spy nodded. “It’s quite amusing, I have to admit.”

Medic pulled a chair up to Spy’s cot and took a seat with his trademark clipboard. He tapped his pen to the paper, already half-covered in messy German scrawl.

“How have you been?” Medic asked.

Spy gave a snort. “I’ve been unconscious for most of our off time and working otherwise. I am feeling much better now. You don’t have to worry so much.”

Medic shifted uncomfortably. He assumed Spy would remain outwardly mad at him - at least a little - for what he did to Sniper. Perhaps he was forgiven for his one good deed. He decided to be grateful rather than take Spy’s oddly peaceful mood for granted.

“I can’t help worrying.”

“I know.”

For a moment, the two settled into a silence that, to Medic, was prickly, but grew content. It was okay to take a break sometimes, though neither of them made a habit of taking breaks when they needed it.

“Open the door, oh freakin’ god, OPEN THE DOOR!”

Spy and Medic were startled into alertness. Spy made to get up, but Medic held a hand over him before hurrying over to the door himself.

“What is it, Herr Scout?” he yelled, sounding irritated.

“J-just _OPEN_ it now! Please!”

Medic opened the unlocked door and as soon as the space allowed it, Scout careened into the infirmary, miraculously keeping a bowl of stew unspilled. Close behind him was some very loud, very angry shouting.

“Okay, now _close it!”_ Scout pleaded, trying not to crash into Medic’s desk as he set the bowl down with great care.

“Why?” Medic asked, squinting out into the hallway.

His eyes widened at what he saw and he kicked the door hard enough to shut it.

“Erbarme dich,” he whispered, turning to press his back to the door.

“What’s wrong?” Spy asked, taking the bowl of stew.

Scout was leaning against the desk, panting as he answered, “Soldier... Sniper... food thrown... Engie got really... oh god, I don’t think I’ve had to run that fast since we were capturing intel at 2Fort.”

Medic mumbled more prayers in German as he locked the door.

“Please explain in a manner that makes actual sense,” Spy sighed. “Or I will get up and see for myself.”

“He’s not wearin’ _pants,”_ Scout gasped.

Spy pursed his lips and decided some things were better off not seen.

“I order you to open this door immediately!” came from the other side of the door.

“I recommend you do not open the door,” Spy said before starting on his stew.

Medic glowered at him.

“That maggot stole my pants!”

“No I didn’t!” Scout cried. “Engineer did!”

“Did you say ‘pants’?” Medic asked, giving Scout a look of utter horror.

“Uhh, actually, Soldier did. Not me.”

Medic cursed in annoyance.

“Wilhelm, not in front of Scout!” Spy reprimanded.

Scout was indignant. “What are you-”

“I’m sorry,” Medic said. “We need to find Herr Heavy.”

“Wait, why?” Scout asked.

“Well, you know how I have glassware with me?”

“Yeah?”

“Two pieces I’d traded for with Herr Heavy, and Herr Engineer-”

“I’m startin’ to think I don’t wanna hear the rest of this.”

“You probably don’t.”

“Why do I have to find Heavy, though?”

“Demoman should be asleep, and he’s the only one who can restrain-”

_“GET BACK HERE, YOU BLOODY MONGREL!”_

Medic gave a deep sigh, gloved fingers clenching against the door.

“-Sniper when he’s angry.”

Spy nearly choked on beef stew before bursting out in laughter.

“Good luck with that,” he eventually managed to say.

“Y’know, for a Friday night, this is a lot more work than I’m s’posed to be doing,” Scout muttered, flopping down on the cot beside Spy’s.

“Have you considered speaking to Sniper yourself?” Spy asked, quirking a mischievous smile.

“...No,” Medic sighed.

Spy hardly caught the response but it made him laugh, in the subdued way a tired person laughed.

“Hey, yeah,” Scout said, perking up. “I’m sure Snipes’ll listen to you!”

“I don’t know about that, Herr Scout. And I’m not opening the door!” Medic snapped. “Herr Soldier isn’t wearing pants, and he’s covered in...” He grimaced.

“Honey from the pantry. They were usin’ it for the poker game, but it didn’t last long ‘cause Engineer was in one of his scary moods and he absolutely destroyed everyone else. I think that’s what I heard, at least.”

“This is a poor argument. I will not be swayed to allow honey tracks into my office.”

Scout made a face.

“But Sniper’s armed!”

“With what?” Medic asked, rubbing his temples.

“One of his big splintery knives. I mean, I don’t think it’s a knife ‘cause it’s too big to be a knife but I dunno if it’s a kukri or not?”

Spy grimaced. “That would be his one piece of contraband, unlogged in the respawn and weapon system,” he said.

“Why am I just learning about these things now?” Medic asked, bracing himself against the thumping at the door.

“It’s like his Tribalman’s Shiv,” Spy offered. “But worse.”

“You aren’t helping, Herr Spy.”

The yelling from outside continued.

“Just open the door, doc! You can’t let Soldier get killed, can you?” Scout asked, getting up.

“If he’s going to get the floor sticky, he can go through respawn himself.”

“Oh my god,” Scout said.

He sprinted across the infirmary, even leaping right over the examination table, and nearly crashed right into Medic, who was quick enough to back away from the door. Scout unlocked it, stepped to the side, and opened it.  
Soldier spilled into the room in a heap.

Scout shot Medic a look before planting his hand on Medic’s back and shoving him forward. The doctor was greeted with the sight of a furious Sniper, clothed, though covered in his fair share of honey, wielding a cruel-looking weapon. He raised his hands in a loose gesture to beg for mercy.

“Hey Snipes!” Scout chirped, holding the door handle in a shaky white-knuckled grip, ready to slam it shut in case Sniper decided to attack.

Sniper did not attack. There was a tense moment where he merely studied the situation, taking in the sight of Spy on his cot, Soldier on the floor behind Medic, Scout at the door, Medic directly in front of him and blocking the intended path of his blade. He lowered it.

“Doc,” he said, voice low and gravelly. He was still out of breath from his chase.

“Robin. Please do not friendly our teammates.”

Scout snickered and was cut off abruptly when Sniper darted forward, the blade was swung and it nearly cut his arm off. He yelped and hopped back behind the safety of the door. Sniper glared at him. He then turned to Medic, inches from his face, and backed up.

“Didn’t mean to disturb,” he finally said.

“It’s alright,” Medic replied, following Sniper’s momentary murderous gaze, which flitted to the now-quiet Soldier, getting the floor sticky.

Sniper gave a single nod, half-turned, and shut the door with enough force to yank Scout forward before he let go of the handle.

“Jesus,” Scout whispered, rubbing his arm where the blade had nicked his skin.

“You handled that well,” Spy said.

Medic’s heart thundered. Scout helped Soldier up from the floor.

“I suppose I did,” he replied, too soft for Spy to hear from the other side of the infirmary.

 

“Getting angry like that is not like you.”

“I know, spook.”

Sniper sipped lukewarm water from a plastic cup before setting it down on his bedside table. The surface was laden with spilled bullets from an ammo box, and a thick layer of dust over everything including the unused lamp.

“Why?” Spy asked. He was lying on the side of the bed closest to the wall, tracing swirls on the sheets.

Sniper grunted. “Reason I had to take a shower and make a trip to the laundry room’s why,” he said.

“Yes, well, I’ve told you not to play poker if you are in danger of getting into a mood.”

“It was only s’posed t’ be a few rounds! Didn’t know that Truckie was gonna drag out the honey and make a mess outta things. Case you couldn’t tell, I wasn’t exactly glad t’ play with those rules but you know our house rules - y’can’t leave the game ‘til you lose or respawn.”

Spy closed his eyes. “I know,” he said. “It is not the most forgiving rule.”

“Yeah, but I wanted to do somethin’,” Sniper said, shrugging. “In base, I mean.”

“In hindsight, poker was not a good choice.”

“Nah, can’t say it was.”

For a little while, the two just lounged on Sniper’s bed together, not talking about anything but thinking about plenty.

“Hey, spook.”

“Yes, bushman?”

“Y’think the doc’s mad at me?” Sniper asked.

Spy opened his eyes because he could hear an uncharacteristic note of anxiety in Sniper’s voice. It was something that he’d heard a few times - when he was actually conscious - over the past week or so. He realized that despite everything that had happened, most of which he’d missed but only heard about thanks to Scout’s debriefing, Sniper was still scared. Maybe ‘scared’ wasn’t the right word, but...

“Non,” Spy said. “He wasn’t mad when you left. I admit, he did look a little dazed, but not mad. He told Soldier to take a shower and then he cleaned the floor up. Then he cleaned Scout’s and Soldier’s wounds, the latter of which I am sure is entirely your doing.”

“Not _entirely,”_ Sniper protested. “Truckie was wavin’ his spiky wrench around. I think we all managed to escape unscathed, for the most part, ‘cause Heavy wasn’t there. Haven’t seen him all evening, but Demo said he and Pyro were takin’ a nap or something.”

Then he paused, scratching the back of his head.

“Y’think I should tell the doc I’m sorry?”

Spy tsked. “He isn’t mad at you, Robin. I would not lie to you about this, and you know that. But if it will help make you feel better you should go talk to him.”

Sniper nodded. Before he even got up there was a knock on the door, the quick rapping kind.

“Who’s th-”

“Hey, Snipes.”

“Um,” Sniper replied as his door was opened.

“Hello, Scout,” Spy said.

“Can we finish our game of checkers?” Scout asked.

“Long as you don’t make a mess,” Sniper said. “If there are checkers pieces all over the place by the time I’m back, I’m sendin’ you both through respawn.”

Scout snorted, rolled his eyes.

“Get outta here, man. Come back in five minutes, even, and I promise this place’ll be cleaner than it is now.”

“That isn’t saying much,” Spy pointed out.

Sniper frowned and left his room, shutting the door behind himself. It wasn’t until he was down the stairs that he realized Scout didn’t even have his checkers game with him, and he let out an annoyed sigh. He would very honestly not be surprised if Engineer had sent Scout upstairs to mess with him for almost winning the poker game.

But as nervousness bubbled up inside of him, Sniper’s idle concern was replaced with the worries he’d been carrying for far longer than a mere hour. For some reason, he kept replaying the events of the battle in his head. He’d gotten over the honey incident, and yet, despite the battle being generally unremarkable, it had been a battle hard fought and won.

Little looks at Medic, though... When Sniper had a duller moment on the field - which was often when his team was obliterating the BLUs - he thought of Medic. Squirming in his bed, clawing at the sheets, hands blazing crimson light.

Funnily enough, it had been during these thoughts that the BLU Spy accosted him. Sniper had run him through with the Shiv. Didn’t even falter in his steps or fluid movement; there was an easy grace between him and the Spy. Always was.

Blood had stained his hands, rifle barrel, bullets, which only served to make him think more about Medic. Oh, Medic. With his shiny killstreak and burning eyes and hands.

Sniper’s heart skipped a beat and he found himself heading to the infirmary. There was a dull ache in his back - from the BLU Spy’s elbow, or perhaps the knockback from the Soldier’s rocket throwing him to the ground, or the Scout’s gun.

The bruises did not hurt. They weren’t even a mild annoyance. Sniper wasn’t sure what they were because he wasn’t focused on them. Rather, he was focused on getting his foot in the door. The infirmary loomed in front of him. He willed himself to step closer, not to flee.

The air was fresher outside, but his solace... His solace.

“Doc?”

As the doorknob turned, Sniper felt a rush of nausea. But he also readied himself to tell Medic everything.

 

“I would not advise leaving, nor asking the Administration to leave,” Medic said, squinting a bit at the outdoors, the foggy forest and all its implications.

“Why not?”

Sniper sounded pitiful. But Medic, more so.

“Just stay.”

“I don’ have any reason to. I came here for the money, but I can find another job, I can even go back t' bein’ a regular hitman.”

Medic closed his eyes, took another deep breath. He turned to the Sniper, took a step forward, and clasped the marksman’s hands in his own, warm even with the gloves on.

“Do you really have no reason to stay?” he asked fiercely.

Sniper was leaning back, startled at the sudden closeness of the doctor. He didn’t retreat his hands. The heat felt surprisingly good; it always had. Both his own hands were bare and his fingers tightened, craving it.

“I-I guess I have Spy,” Sniper said in the least convincing manner possible. “But friendship isn’t a reason to stay in a place - and job - that makes me feel _trapped.”_

Sniper’s heart skipped a beat as the doctor’s hands squeezed his.

“You have _me,”_ Medic said, voice low and tone still full of fire.

“I-”

“Mein fucking gott, Robin, can you really not tell?”

“Tell _what?”_ Sniper asked, suddenly defensive.

“I know it hasn’t been that long but seriously! How much time have we spent together? How much time have you spent in here, in my bed instead of either of your own?”

“A lot! I know that, we’ve spent a lot of bloody time together! That... that doesn’t have t' _change_ anything!”

Sniper faltered and he was filled with regret because to Medic, his words were like a slap to the face. They stung.

“Wait, I didn’t mean-”

 _”How_ can you be so fucking blind?” Medic asked, his voice a harsh whisper.

Sniper gave a shaky, angry exhalation. “Excuse me?” was his reply.

 _”How the fuck can you be so fucking blind?!”_ Medic shouted. He had tears in his eyes but he was still red with fury.

“Look, mate,” Sniper began. He was pissed and his patience was running out because he couldn’t keep up with the rapidly changing conversation.

Medic slapped him so hard that Sniper nearly lost his balance. When he steadied himself, he could see that the doctor’s arm was visibly shaking. But he didn’t retract it even as Sniper stared at him in stunned, wordless horror, a hand pressed to his stinging cheek.

“Did you really just-” Sniper began. He cut himself off because he didn’t need to ask.

“Ja, I did,” Medic replied coldly. His voice hitched and his fingers clutched in midair before he pulled his arm back.

“I can’t believe you. I’m telling you this because I trust you,” Sniper said, growing angry again.

“How can you trust me and not fucking _care_ about me?” Medic demanded.

Sniper flinched at the words. The regret was coming back because Jesus bloody fucking Christ, the tears were coming down Medic’s face and it was his fault.

“What the fuck are you trying to tell me, Wilhelm?! What the hell do you expect from me?”

A fresh wave of fury blazed in the Medic’s eyes at the sound of his first name.

“Use your fucking head, Robin!”

“Just _tell_ me!”

“Because _I fucking love you! Gott verdammt Ich liebe dich! Gott verdamme dich!”_

Sniper was taken aback. And yet, hadn’t he known all this time? Why did he have to deny having feelings for this long? Why did he let it get to this point, having to hear them before he could accept them from the doctor? From himself?

Even though Sniper had told him that his attraction was physical, and that had hurt the Medic, how much time had he spent wondering whether or not Medic felt differently? His own problems and plights were bad, yes, of course they were, but he’d spent so much more time avoiding actual thoughts about the doctor and their relationship than he’d spent thinking about it.

“I-I’m sorry,” Sniper rasped. It was the weakest possible apology, not even close to being enough for what he’d done, but it didn’t matter.

Something in Medic must’ve snapped. He dropped his gaze, took Sniper's hands, was hunched over as he added, “Please don’t go.” He flashed a rueful smile. “I’m so selfish.”

“Wilhelm,” Sniper strained to say.

Medic’s head tipped up, just hardly. Sniper seized the chance while he could. He slipped a hand out of the doctor’s grip, placing it on the back of his head, leaned forward, and pressed their lips together.

They parted slightly and Medic whispered into the marksman’s mouth, “Robin...”

“You had a point,” Sniper said as he sat back upright. “I do have reasons to stay.”

Medic embraced the Sniper. They could feel each other’s hearts pounding hard.

“Forgive me,” Medic murmured.

“Already done. Forgive me,” Sniper replied.

Medic hugged him tighter.

“You don’t have to stay.”

Sniper was taken aback. He pulled Medic off of him.

“I’m staying,” he said.

“You don’t have to.”

“I do. Trust me, I don’t know how I didn’t... see this sooner, but I have to. It’s hard to realize it when I’m not lettin’ myself think, or even when I’m overthinking it, but after bein’ all discontent with my life here, right now I can honestly tell you I feel I have to stay. I want to stay.”

“...Why?” Medic asked, shaking his head. He looked confused, he looked sad.

Sniper took a deep breath, then gave a helpless smile.

“Because I love you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \\\ And there it is, the end of Weglaufen. Thank you so much for reading, for the Kudos, the likes, the comments, the reblogs, and all of the encouragement. I could not have done this and gotten this far without you, my dearest readers. Whether we’re close friends or strangers to each other, I want you to know I truly appreciate you getting through my fic, because whoa - it got pretty damn long! At least, longer than I personally expected it to get.
> 
> I had doubts when I was writing this. I am not a person who is good at finishing things, but if you’re reading this right now on AO3, that means I did finish this one particular big thing. And I’m proud of myself at least a little bit now! I’ve updated approximately once per week, which I think is... kind of cool, actually. Did I think I could do it when I started? I didn’t think about it much, to be honest. I’m sure most people would think that 5-8k words a week isn’t much, and some might think it’s a lot. I think it’s been neat aiming for that when possible for myself, and yeah, I admit I’m a little surprised I managed it.
> 
> If you’re reading this but you aren’t super into TF2, then I recommend you try getting into the game. Since it’s F2P, you can also drag your friends in for several times the fun and/or suffering! If you’re reading this but you aren’t (or weren’t, prior to reading this) super into Bush Medicine/Medisniper, I am somewhat ashamed not to have been the one to get you into the ship, or at least one of the ones to do so. If it’s not your thing, I hope you enjoyed the story anyway. Unless you skipped to the end credits for some reason, which would be kind of pointless like c’mon at least read the first chapter before coming here.
> 
> In case you missed it, [here is the playlist I made about half to two thirds of the way through](http://8tracks.com/djsckatzen/weglaufen). You might hate my music taste but that’s okay, listen to what you want. The playlist isn’t long enough for a reading of the whole fic anyway. Unless you’re cool with re-listening to those songs a lot of times.
> 
> Finally, I would also like to give special thanks to a few people in particular who made this journey as incredible as it was: Katie (genuineanger/skarletfyre), Vincent (soundgoodizer), Dylan (slendidnot), BJ (spicycedar), Dani (rustage), Weenie (weenie-kun), and of course, the radiant and ever-lovely Emmy (sd--doomsday). Thank you, all of you, for being such inspiring, sweet people. And thank you Emmy, for having gotten me into this ship in the first place. I appreciate it but I also cried a lot over it so I hope you are proud of yourself, you monster, you amazing human being, artist, and writer, you.
> 
> Stay tuned for the epilogue.


	23. Coals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there is always more to be said, even after the end of things. //

Medic was hovering over his desk, his fingertips perched on top of his violin bow still in its velvet-lined case. He could hear chords and smooth melodies in his head, but he wasn’t producing them. The infirmary was dark in the evenings as it tended to be. Medic had patched up Heavy’s arm and Engineer’s hand earlier, so now he was all by himself. Sniper would’ve been with him, but he was having dinner.

Medic had asked for some alone time, and of course the man had been respectful about it. He was alone now, and though he certainly didn’t feel lonely, he felt something else. An almost suffocating sense of depression that made him feel heavier than his dark wooden table.

He was reminded that it was easy, too easy to fall back into the clutches of sorrow. Or perhaps it wasn’t even that poetic; he didn’t find the feelings very poetic. Although the violin-playing did add a layer of mystery and classiness to everything, Medic didn’t find being sad to be a state that he could glean any sense of ho-hum drama from. In fact, it felt kind of weird even to try to think of his emotions as anything overly dramatic. They were just kind of happening.

Medic let go of the violin bow, and reached for his rosin on the table. Uncapping it let out a burst of a pine scent into the air, and his hands glowed red in reaction.

When he was ready, he picked up his instrument and worked at it. He was on autopilot; playing for the sake of it, not to better himself or learn anything. Not even to note the mistakes he made. He just wanted to play, because maybe he could release the song from his heart and it would ease things up a little.

Snatches of conversation made their way into his thoughts.

 _”Hey doc, watch this! I swear I can jump high enough to catch Archimedes, okay? Yeah, yeah, I know the window’s open, but he isn’t gonna_ fly out _or nothin’, is he? Wait, what do you mean he’s a she? Stop distractin’ me, I got this, man!”_

Back in the Badlands, Scout had been bothering Medic while he was trying to feed the doves, and Archimedes had escaped. Of course, Scout hadn’t managed to catch the bird...

_”Which one of ‘em got out this time?”_

Sniper had been willing to help, always had.

_”Archimedes! Y’know, the only one who can escape me ‘cause I’m pretty damn fast but she’s faster but only by a little?”_

_”You bloody ankle-biter, how many times do I have to tell you not to let her out when the window’s open?! Don’t you listen to me or the doc?”_

Medic laughed out loud at that, making his bow hiccup along the strings but re-adjusting himself without even having to stop his pace.

_”I think Truckie’s outside, maybe you can ask him where she went and like, shoot her down or somethin’?”_

_”Don’t worry, I don’t need a gun or anything to catch her. In fact, I bet you a hundred American dollars she’ll come to me.”_

_”She’s a fuckin’ bird! You’re on, Snipes. I am_ so _here to empty your wallet.”_

Medic smiled, remembering how Sniper had been entirely correct in his words. He’d whistled a few notes into the air, and, like magic, Archimedes had fluttered down from the roof to land on the back of Engineer’s pickup. Right on his helmet, actually; he’d been asleep at the time. Sniper had only fumbled once in his attempt to grab her, but miraculously enough hadn’t even woken the Engineer. When he brought her back to the infirmary, where Medic and Scout had been watching at the window, Medic had provided some polite applause and Scout, two crumpled fifty dollar bills in a begrudging offer of a lost bet.

He had other happy memories, too. When he found himself in an unpleasant state of mind, he liked to go through them like one would tick items off a to-do list or a grocery checklist.

There was the day he’d received his Professional Killstreak Kit, shipped to the Coldfront base straight from Mannhattan. It had required minimal effort to apply it to his precious Übersaw, which he, of course, still wielded daily and was infinitely fond of.

He remembered the first time he’d had a real conversation with the Demoman. His impression of him had not been the best at first; he saw the Scotsman as somebody who was too loud and oftentimes, too drunk. But getting to know him had proven to be a good decision, especially after the magic teachings had begun. Though Medic had picked up a few things from the Badlands, and had been taught a few things from both Demo and Pyro, it wasn’t until arriving to Nightfall that the ‘formal’ teachings had begun. Medic loved to learn.

The press of his violin to his skin was comforting, always was. He finished the song he’d been playing with a graceful flourish before diving into the next.

What else did he indulge in, when he needed to?

Talking to the Heavy and the Engineer, especially when all three of them were together. Though such conversations tended to mean Medic and Engineer were doing most of the talking, Heavy had valuable things to contribute, too. To be able to indulge in deep discussion was something Medic thoroughly enjoyed and didn’t get with the rest of the team, generally speaking. The topic didn’t have to be controversial or important for the conversation to be worth participating in. Some days, Medic just liked to talk.

And his work, of course. He worked alone. There was no question about that. He never asked anyone to assist him in experiments and research, and they didn’t offer. The only time he had somebody with him while he was working on such projects was when that teammate _was_ the project. The corner of Medic’s mouth twitched upward. Injecting questionable serums into the bloodstream, stealing organs, trying out new medigun prototypes, he’d done it all over the course of the war. He truly lost himself in his work, both that which was mandatory and even the work that wasn’t.

Talking to Pyro, even though he only did so at length no more than once or twice a month. Such instances involved a board game or the like, but Pyro had knowledge to impart that Medic appreciated. Even though he wasn’t one of Pyro’s close friends, he liked their reliability.

Scout’s ridiculous ideas never made for a dull night. Even when he was bugging Medic in the midst of important paperwork, he at least made an effort to make Medic laugh or at least smile. He also loved the birds, and he loved to hold them. Scout’s appearance in the infirmary always got the birds riled up; when he was around, it was prime escape time.

And just the birds. Medic missed them, wondering how they were doing at the last Badlands base the team had left. Surely they were faring fine, with whoever their current caretaker was. They didn’t write often, but Medic didn’t mind. He missed them plenty, but he had faith in their temporary owner.

He stopped playing and set the violin down. There was still a smile on his face, the content kind. It was hard not to smile, thinking about the all the times Soldier had coerced Engineer and Pyro into yet another late night barbeque, and laughing under the starlight with various teammates on various nights, and even just last night, tangled up with Sniper in his bed where they slept together...

At that, his smile faltered. The usual doubts fluttered up into his head, all of the what-ifs, like the _’what if I make a mistake in this?’_ that he thought to himself far more often than he knew he should’ve. And it was hard, not overthinking things. He knew he could be happy if he only tried, but it was hard.

“Knock, knock, my hands’re full!”

Medic started and, in the ensuing fumble, nearly ejected his violin bow across the room. Luckily, it only clattered onto the table so he was able to put it back in the case before heading to the door that was already being pushed open.

“Evenin’, doc. You missed a pretty good entrée, or whatever Spy calls it. But I brought some food back, figured we could eat together. And I swear it’s _not_ just ‘cause Spy told me to bugger off, bring you a bite. It’s ‘cause any time Scout cooks, he gets real loud about it.”

Sniper’s mouth quirked into a smile, which, in turn, made Medic smile back.

“But I’ll be honest, I kinda missed you, too. Wanna take your dinner?”

Medic nodded, taking the plate that Sniper was offering. Then he leaned in to give him a kiss, one he had to urge himself not to deepen.

“Bacon?” Medic asked, raising an eyebrow. “I thought Scout always considered that a breakfast food.”

Sniper gave a shrug as he followed Medic over to his table. He set his plate down and pulled up a chair, the one he always used and pretty much considered his. He sat down across from Medic in his dark wooden throne before taking his hat and aviators off.

“We got a real nice piece of ham a couple of days ago. Dunno where Truckie brought it in from, but it was a lot of meat in one piece. Soldier stole it and used it in battle as a melee weapon, but not before takin’ a huge bite out of it.”

Medic had to make a serious effort not to choke on his food, picturing Soldier whacking a BLU with a ham.

“So we’ve got some bacon ‘til we make the trip to town,” Sniper said. He took a bite before speaking again. “You wanna go?”

“Was?” Medic asked, thrown off by the question and only remembering to swallow his food afterwards.

Sniper chuckled, making him blush.

“To town. Maybe not tonight, but over the weekend or somethin’. We can buy some of whatever it is you wanna eat, or maybe book the motel for a night if you’d like privacy away from base...”

Medic raised an eyebrow. “Making plans so soon?” he asked.

“Dunno if I’d say ‘soon’. We haven’t been on a date yet, remember?”

“Perhaps, but we _are_ dating, are we not? At least, that’s how I see it.”

Sniper blinked. “Really?” he asked, actually sounding excited. Kind of like a puppy. Then he cocked his head. “But we haven’t even asked each other out yet, isn’t that how it works?”

Medic was thoughtful about that. “Not necessarily, but I can see how that would make sense.”

Sniper put his fork down, brought a fist up to his mouth and cleared his throat to catch Medic’s full attention. When the doctor’s eyes flicked up to meet his, he felt his face heat up but didn’t clam up. He’d done that far too often in the past, but he knew he didn’t need to now.

“So, uh, will you go out with me?” he asked.

His heterochromatic eyes were wide, one of them more golden, one of them more brown. A familiar sight to Medic now; he could tell the difference whether Sniper had his aviators on or not. Just seeing Sniper in front of him made him feel so, so much better. His heart was thundering, indulging in the moment that was Sniper, right here, right now. Asking him out and being utterly sweet about it.

“Of course,” Medic replied.

“Wanna hit up the town this weekend?”

Medic laughed, feeling Sniper’s hand squeeze his in what might’ve been a hopeful gesture.

“I’ll follow you anywhere, Robin.”

 

Sniper sighed, shaking his head with a smile. “That’s my boyfriend,” he murmured out loud.

Spy uncloaked next to him. “Yes, it is.”

Medic yelled in German, _tackling_ the BLU Medic into the dirt. His eyes were glowing with red fire, matching the sheen on his saw. Not to mention the blood it was splattered with. The enemy Medic screamed.

“He’s adorable,” Sniper said, making Spy laugh because the Medic was literally about to tear the poor BLU apart.

The two didn’t need to watch, but they were content to hear the screaming behind them.

“Save some for me!” Demoman yelled, careening into the scene.

He gave a wink to Spy and Sniper before pulling his Claidheamh Mòr out and joining his friend where the BLUs’ blood stained the grass.

“We’re gonna have a dinner date in the medical supply room tonight.”

“Truly the pinnacle of romance, mon ami.”

Sniper cuffed Spy’s arm lightly. “I pushed some boxes and other crap to the side, cleaned it up a little. Put in a makeshift table and seats. It’ll be nice and private, and y’know what’s _amazing?”_

“What?” Spy asked, willing to humour his friend.

“He has actual glassware! Like, I’ve only seen a few of them around base ever since that incident, but he has at least two for us to use. Isn’t that bloody brilliant?”

“It really is, and I’m envious.”

Sniper laughed, and the genuine happiness in that laugh made Spy laugh, too. He really couldn’t be happier for his friend. Here was a reason for him to have that light in his eyes, the spark of life, of loving it. Perhaps not every aspect and facet of it, but... finding enough good in it that he could be happy about it.

The problems weren’t over. Not by a long shot. Their jobs were still hard work. There were still limitations that reminded Spy of clipping a free bird’s wings. But there were ways to work with what they, as such impossible mercenaries with their impossible lives, had to call their own.

“Robin!” Medic called.

“Yeah?” Sniper asked.

“Will you do Ao and I the honour of making these amazing taunt kills?”

Sniper turned to see Demoman holding up the BLU Spy, and Medic holding up the BLU Scout.

“Merde,” BLU Spy grumbled. He wasn’t even trying to fight it.

BLU Scout, however, was kicking and spitting. “You’ve gotta be kiddin’ me! This _again?!”_

“Sorry, I don’t have my Huntsman with me right now; I brought the Heatmaker. But Jackie can step in for me.”

Spy followed Sniper up to their teammates, presenting the BLUs like a dinner platter.

“Really?” Spy asked, amused.

“Think of it as a thanks for givin’ me that taunt kill on this li’l mongrel-” Sniper nodded at the BLU Scout. “-A bit ago.”

“I haven’t seen your fencin’ taunt in a while, Spy,” Demoman said.

“Please, do indulge us,” Medic added.

Sniper joined the doctor’s side and gave him a peck on the cheek.

“Really?” Spy asked again, flipping his balisong.

“They’re all yours, spook.”

As Spy made his graceful taunt kill on his opposite, Demo gave a riotous bout of laughter.

“Great aim there, lad!” he exclaimed, nodding in approval.

“Hey, love,” Sniper said.

“Robin, please,” Medic whispered. “You don’t have to call me pet names on the field... In fact, you probably shouldn’t.”

“Thank you.”

“For what? Having sex with you last night that many times?”

Sniper snorted. “Nah, just for bein’ you.”

“Oh. Well in that case, you’re welcome.”

“Seriously.”

“You are very welcome.”

“Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait!”

The four looked up to see Scout - the RED Scout, of course - sprinting towards them. He nearly bowled over Demoman.

“Leave this one to me,” he panted, clapping a bandaged hand on Spy’s shoulder.

“All yours,” Spy said, giving a faint smile as he stepped aside.

“Fuck yeah!” Scout exclaimed.

“You guys are some seriously fucked up bastards,” BLU Scout grumbled.

There was a general chorus of ‘yeah’ and ‘we know’ around the group as Scout performed his taunt kill. He saluted with his hand that wasn’t wielding the Sandman, crouched, reared back, and swung. As soon as the hit connected with the BLU Scout, he was knocked out and very much dead.

Medic dropped the corpse and gave a polite bit of applause, followed by the others.

“Thank you, thank you. Anythin’ for the fans,” Scout said, taking a bow.

Everyone laughed, and when Scout pouted, they just laughed more. But he eventually joined them, too.

And feeling that sense of belonging, Sniper grabbed on. He didn’t want to let go. He felt Medic’s hand slip into his, and he pressed a little closer to him.

“Robin,” Medic said as Spy and Demo continued to tease Scout.

“Hm?” Sniper asked.

“Springtime. It’s the season of beginnings, isn’t it?” Medic asked.

Sniper nodded, peering beyond his teammates and into the dense greenery, visibly lush even through the dense forest. Thick swaths of needles, deep emerald green. Fragrant, literally smelling like magic. And beneath that, among the tangle of gnarled roots, the thick bushes of more leafy green. The muted colours occasionally punctuated by the brighter hues of flora, delicate with their petals but adding a gentler touch of beauty to the scene.

“Yeah,” Sniper replied, looking at his lover.

The Medic smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \\\ and there you have it: the (complete) ending to Weglaufen. I’ll spare you further rambling; I’ve covered what I needed to cover in the final chapter’s AN. love y'all. [xoxox](http://sd--doomsday.tumblr.com/post/104019898364/uh-uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh-some-old) \- sans
> 
> ps actual editing and proofing will happen. not now. it's late.


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